Astounding v34n04 (1944 12) (AK)

“Scoff, if you will, Gentlemen, but this woman will live!”

Slowly, and with the fierce conviction
and undying faith that had marked
him from the beginning, Lister, his scalpel
laid aside, the last dressing completed,
addressed his critical audience.

In the eyes of one or two he saw hope and
faith to buttress his own, but on the faces of
others — some of them the leaders of the pro-
fession— he read only doubt and disbelief.

He could almost hear the sneers of the
attending nurses whispering in the back-
ground while they viewed the pale and love-
ly woman on the table. Lister knew that they
regarded his fanatical insistence on cleanli-
ness, the repeated dressings, his evil antisep-
tics, as the vagaries of a madman . . . that
they were awaiting the "dead-cart” to carry
the woman away, just as it had carried away
countless others, when blood poisoning fol-
lowed compound fracture.

But Lister knew, also, that his radical
methods, his antiseptics aimed to keep
germs out of wounds, before, during and

after every operation, must, with God’s will,
triumph.

And triumph they did . . . the woman
lived !

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by day, Lister piled up evidence in support
of his antiseptic theory which was to rid the
world of untold suffering, and reduce the
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A

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ASTOUNDING

SCIENCE FICTION

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CONTENTS

DECEMBER, 1944 VOL. XXXIV, NO. 4

SERIAL

NOMAD, by Wesley Long 7

Three Parte — Part Orte

NOVELETTES

THE FIRING LINE, by (ieorge 0. Smith ... 60

NO WOMAN BORN, by C. L. Moore 134

SHORT STORY

TRICKY TONNAGE, by Malcolm Jameson . . . fifi

ARTICLES

SPACESHIP’S VIEW 00

MOON MYSTERIES, by Willy Ley 104

READERS’ DEPARTMENTS

THE EDITOR’S PAGE 5

IN TIMES TO COME 08

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY .... OS
PROBABILITY ZERO 128

Editor

JOHN W. CAMPBELL, JR.

COVER BY TIMMINS
Illustrations by Kramer and Orban

Tbe editorial content! hare not been published before, are protected ny
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NEXT ISSUE ON SALE DECEMBER 10. 1044

Robots and Planes

The robot part of the robot bomb
is, of course, a low-grade idiot
among robots. Incidentally, it vio-
lates, seriatim, all three. of Asimov’s
“Three Laws of Robotics” — it will
injure humans ; it destroys itself ;
and it is much too erratic to allow
anyone to say honestly that it obeys
orders given it.

Yet, curiously, the public in gen-
eral is becoming aware of the fact
that robots ’are not silly dreams of
a fantastic future but, in this in-
stance, horrible nightmares of right
now, through the medium of this
sub-idiotic contraption among ro-
bots. The Flying Fortress, even
more the new Super Fortress, are
robots — and infinitely more intelli-
gent robots — which, it happens, nor-
mally carry pilots and crew with
them. It has been proven time and
again, however, that the Flying
Fortress, or the Liberator — which,
of course, carries the same type of
robotic brain — can fly perfectly
without any help from its human
crew. Most of the time they do;
during the most critical moment of
the whole mission, the bombing run
itself, they are under the control
of the robot bombsight mechanism.

ROBOTS AND PLANES

The bombardier’s job is to carefully
point out to the robot “There — hit
that one!” and the robot, not the
bombardier, does the job.

There are lots of robots in every
day use, however, which, because
they don’t have clanking arms and
legs, nor tin-plate heads with painted
eyes, aren’t recognized as such.
Everything from telephone switch-
boards— particularly the crossbar
type — to differential integrators.

But the robot bomb, actually, is
new only in minor degree — techno-
logically, it is not an invention, but
an improvement and adaptation.
It’s a Whitehead torpedo with modi-
fications for air-borne use. As the
Whitehead torpedo is a miniature
submarine carrying a warhead, the
robot bomb is a miniature plane
similarly burdened. Both are gyro
controlled. Both must, to be at all
effective, attain speeds comparable
to the highest speeds possible to
other mechanisms operating in their
respective media. Each, at its first
introduction, has been enormously
dangerous, requiring the develop-
ment of new countermeasures.

The Nazi’s torpedoes have been
rendered harmless, incidentally, in

6

precisely the . same way the robot
bomb was stopped — by destroying
or capturing the launching mecha-
nisms. Nobody tried to destroy the
torpedoes particularly — they went
after the subs that launched them.
The air torpedo is more vulnerable,
and its launching platform consider-
ably less so. However, the rocket
bomb probably won’t be a particu-
larly dangerous weapon — nowhere
near as dangerous, for instance, as a
fighter-bomber. The robot’s great
trouble, whether piloting a bomb or
in any other application, is that it
can not correct its errors, handle
emergencies, nor display inherent
intelligence. (They can, and do, of
course, display secondhand intelli-
gence— the intelligence the designer
built into them.) Essentially, that
means simply that a robot can’t
duck. It can’t, as a human pilot
can, zig when it’s expected to zag.

Characteristically, the most ad-
vanced types of robots include spe-
cial devices that call for human help
when something goes wrong — they
don’t yet think their own way out
of emergencies.

So long as the robot bomb can’t
duck, a combination of improved
antiaircraft fire control and special,
super-speed fighters can take care
of them. The standard fighter plane
is designed to be able to maneuver,
to be able to zig just as fast and
just as tight as the zig of the enemy
pilot, and to zag every time he does.
You sacrifice a lot of speed that way
—but you need it against a human
pilot. You don’t, with a robot pi-
lot. And, since a human-piloted
machine can be expected to return

«

intact, a lot more expensive, more
powerful, and better parts can be
used in it.

The robot bomb idea, converted to
peacetime use, would give us a com-
pletely robot air freight system. The
present use of the flying robot sim-
ply allows it to crash-land — but the
blind-landing systems developed
before the war, to permit safe land-
ing when fog closed in on the
airports, nearly all depended on hav-
ing the pilot bring the plane into the
neighborhood of the field, where a
radio signal picked up and started a
robot-landing pilot. It was easier
to design a robot to directly inter-
pret and act on the radio signals
than to design instruments for a pi-
lot to read, convince him he could
trust them, and train them to act
on them. Simple enough to add
that robot to the present systems.

And you know, they will almost
certainly do that. Fog and weather
won’t hold terrors. Every plane
will take off under robot control, fly
under radio-robot control, and land
under radio-robot control. Every
plane on every commercial air line.

With two men to watch the robot.
Men can replace a tube if it blows.
They can make adequate adjustment
for an engine that burns out. No
robot yet devised can do all the
things that might be needed in all
the emergencies that could arise —
and it will be a heck of a long time
before they do contrive one that will
do that, and still weigh less than one
hundred fifty pounds, and cost less
than ten thousand dollars a year for
all maintenance.

The Editor.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Nomad

by WESLEY LONG

Pari 1 of 3 parts. Long's first serial tells of a man
harried from world to world, kidnaped, betrayed —
for a purpose he never knew, but faithfully fulfilled!

illustrated by Orban

i.

Guy Maynard left the Bureau of
Exploration Building at Sahara
Base and walked right into trou-
ble. It came more or less of a
surprise; not the trouble as a con-
dition but the manner and place of
its coming was the shocking quality.
Guy Maynard was used to trouble
but like all men who hold commis-
sions in the Terran Space Patrol,

he was used to trouble in the proper
places and in the proper doses.

But to find trouble in the mid-
dle of Sahara Base was definitely
stunning. Sahara Base was as re-
stricted an area as had ever been
guarded and yet trouble bad come
for Guy.

The trouble was a MacMillan
held in the clawlike hand of a Mar-
tian. The bad business end was
dead-center for the pit of Guy’s

NOMAD

7

stomach and the steadiness of the
weapon’s aim indicated that the
Martian who held the opposite end
of the ugly weapon knew his Mac-
Millans.

Maynard’s stomach crawled, not
because of the aim on said midriff,
but at the idea of a MacMillan be-
ing aimed at any portion of the
anatomy. His mind raced through
several possibilities as he recalled
previous mental theories on what
he would do if and when such a
thing happened.

In his mind’s eye, Guy Maynard
had met MacMillan-holding Mar-
tians before and in that mental
playlet, Guy had gone into swift
action using his physical prowess
to best the weapon-holding enemy.
In all of his thoughts, Guy had
succeeded in erasing the menace
though at one time it ended in death
to the enemy and at other times
Guy had used the enemy’s own
weapon to march him swiftly to the
Intelligence Bureau for question-
ing. The latter always resulted in
the uncovering of some malignant
plot for which Maynard received
plaudits, decorations, and an in-
crease in rank.

Now Guy Maynard was. no
youngster. He was twenty-four,
and well educated. He had seen
action before this and had come
through the Martio-Terran incident
unscathed. Openly he admitted
that he had been lucky during those
weeks of trouble but in his own
mind, Maynard secretly believed
that it was his ability and his brain
that brought him through without
a scratch.

t

His dreaming of action above
and beyond the call of duty was
normal for any young man of in-
telligence and imagination.

But as his mind raced on and
on, it also came to the conclusion
that the law of survival was higher
than the desire to die for a theory.

Therefore it was with inward
sickness that Guy Maynard stopped
short on the sidewalk before the
Bureau of Exploration Building
and did nothing. He did not look
around because the fact that this
Martian was able to stand before
him in Sahara Base with a Mac-
Millan pointed at his stomach was
evidence enough that they were
alone on the street. Had anyone
seen them, the Martian would have
been literally torn to bits by the
semi-permanent MacMillan mounts
that lined the roof tops.

The Martian had everything his
own way, and so Maynard waited.
It was the Martian’s move.

“Guy Maynard?”

Maynard did not feel that such
an unnecessary question required
an answer. The Martian would not
have been menacing him if he
hadn’t known whom he wanted.

“Guy Maynard, I advise that you
do nothing.” said the Martian. His
voice was flat and metallic like all
Martian voices, and the sharply-
chiseled features were expression-
less as are all Martian faces. “You
are to come with me,” finished the
Martian needlessly. He had not
concluded the last bit of informa-
tion when invisible tractor beams
lashed down and caught the pair in

ASTOCNBINfi SCIENCK. fie T I n v

their field of focus and lifted them
straight up.

The velocity was terrific, and the
only thing that saved them suffo-
cation in the extreme upper strato-
sphere was the entrapped air that
went along with the field of focus.

The sky went dark and the stars
winked in the same sky as the flam-
ing sun.

And then they entered the space
lock of an almost invisible space-
ship. The door slammed behind
them and air rushed into the con-
fines of the lock just as the trac-
tors were snuffed.

Maynard arose from the floor to
face once more that rigidly held
MacMillan. Before he could move,
the door behind him flashed open
and three Martians swarmed in
upon him and trussed him with
straps. They carried him to a small
room and strapped him to a sur-
geon’s table.

The one with the MacMillan
holstered the weapon as the ship
started off at 3-G.

“Now, Guy Maynard, we may
talk.”

Maynard glared.

“It is regrettable that this should
be necessary,” apologized the Mar-
tian. “I am Kregon. Your being
restrained is but a physical neces-
sity ; I happen to know that you
are the match for any two of us.
Therefore wc have strapped you
down until we have had a chance
to speak our mind. After which
you may be freed — depending upon
vour reception of the proposition we
have to offer.”

Maynard merely waited. It was

very unsatisfactory, this glaring,
for the Martian went on as though
Maynard were beaming in glee and
anxiously awaiting for the “Propo-
sition.” He recalled training
which indicated that the first thing
to do when confronted by captors
is to remain silent at all cost. To
merely admit that your name was
correctly expressed by the captor
was to break the ice. Once the
verbal ice was broken, the more
leading information was easier to
extract; a dead and stony silence
was hard to break.

“Guy Maynard, we would like to
know where the Orionad is,” said
Kregon. “We have here fifty
thousand reasons why you should
tell. Fifty thousand, silver-backed
reasons, legal for trade in any part
of the inhabited Solar System and
possibly some not-inhabited places.”

No answer.

“You know where the Orionad
is,” went on Kregon. “You are
the aide to Space Marshal Greggor
of the Bureau of Exploration who
sent the Orionad off on her present
mission. The orders were secret,
that we know. We want to know
those orders.”

No answer.

“We of Mars feel that the
Orionad may be operating against
the best interests of Mars. Your
continued silence is enhancing that
belief. Could it be that we have
captured the first prisoner in a new
Terra-Martian fracas? Or if the
Orionad is not operating against
Mars, I can see no reason for con-
tinued silence on your part.”

c

NOMAD

No answer, though Maynard
knew that the Orionad was not
menacing anything Martian. He
realized the trap they were laying
tor him and since he could not
avoid it, he walked into it.

Kregon paused. Then he started
off on a new track. “You are prob-
ably immunized against iso-dinila-
mine. Most officials are, and their
aides are also, especially the aide
to such an important official as
Space Marshal Greggor. That is
too bad, Guy Maynard. Terra is
still behind the times. Haven’t they
heard that the immunization given
by anti-lamine is good except when
anti-lamine is decomposed by a low
voltage, low frequency electric cur-
rent ? They must know that,” said
Kregon with as close to a smile as
any Martian could get. It was also
cynically inclined. “After all, it
was Dr. Frederich of the Terran
Medical Corps who discovered it.”

Maynard knew what was coming
and he wanted desperately to squirm
and wriggle enough to scratch his
spine. The little beads of sweat
that had come along his backbone
at Kregon’s cool explanation were
beginning to itch. But he con-
trolled the impulse.

“We are not given to torture,”
explained the Martian. “Otherwise
we could devise something defi-
nitely tongue-loosening. For in-
stance, we could have you observe
some surgical experiments on — say
— Laura Greggor.”

The beads of sweat broke out
over Maynard’s face. It was a
harsh thought and very close to
home. And yet there was a sepa-

19

rate section of his mind that told
him that Laura would undergo that
treatment without talking and that
he would have to suffer mentally
while he watched, because she
would hold nothing but contempt
for a man who would talk to save
her from what she would go through
herself. He wondered whether
they had Laura Greggor already
and were going to do as they said.
That was a hard thing to reason
out. He feared that he would
speak freely to save Laura disfig-
urement and torture; knowing as
he spoke that Laura would forever
afterward hate him for being a
weakling. Did they have her — ?

“Unfortunately for us, we have
not had the opportunity of getting
the daughter of the Space Marshal.
But there are other things. They
are far superior, too. I was against
the torture method just described
because I know that Mars would
never have peace again if we de-
stroyed the daughter of Space Mar-
shal Greggor. Your disappearance
will be explained by evidence. A
wrecked spaceship or flier, will take
care of the question of Guy May-
nard, whereas Laura Greggor is
forbidden to travel in military ve-
hicles.”

Kregon turned and called
through the open door. His con-
federates came with a portable cart
upon which was an equipment case,
complete with plug-in cords, elec-
trodes, and controls.

“You will find that low frequency,
low voltage electricity is very ex-
cruciating. It will not kill nor
maim nor impair. But it will offer

ASTOUND! NO SCIENCE-FICTION

you an insight on the torture of
the damned. Ultimately, we will
have decomposed the anti-lamine in
your system and then you will
speak freely under the influence of
iso-dinilamine. Oh yes, Guy May-
nard, we will give you respite. The
current will be turned off periodi-
cally. Five minutes on and five
minutes off. This is in order for
you to rest."

" — to rest!” said Maynard’s
mind. Irony. For the mind would
count the seconds during the five
free minutes, awaiting with horror
the next period of current. And
during the five minutes of electrical
horror, the mind would be counting
the seconds that remain before the
period of quiet, knowing that the
peaceful period only preceded more
torture.

Kregon’s helpers tied electrodes
to feet, hands, and the back of his
head. Then Kregon approached
with a syringe and with an apolo-
getic gesture slid the needle into
Maynard’s arm and discharged the
hypodermic.

“Now,” he asked, “before we
start this painful process, would
you care to do this the easy way?
After all, Maynard, we. are going
to have the answer anyway. For
your own sake, why not give it
without pain. That offer of fifty
thousand solars will be withdrawn
upon the instant that the switch is
closed."

Maynard glared and broke his si-
lence. “And have to go through it
anyway? Just so that you will be
certain that I’m not lying? No!”

Kregon shook his head. “That

•

possibility hadn’t really occurred to
us. You aren’t that kind of man,
Maynard. I think that the best kind
of individual is the man who knows
when to tell a lie and when not to
tell. Too bad that you will never
have the opportunity of trying that
philosophy, but I think it best for
the individual, though often not
best for society in general. Accept
the apology of a warrior, Guy May-
nard, that this is necessary, and
try to understand that if the cases
were reversed, you would be in my
place and I in yours. I salute you
and say good-by with regrets.”
Maynard strained against the
straps in futility. He felt that
sense of failure overwhelm him
again, and he fought against his
fate in spite of the fact that there
was nothing he could do about it.
Another man would have resigned
himself, realizing futility when it
presented itself, and possibly would
have made some sort of prayer.
But Guy Maynard fought —

And the surge of low frequency,
low voltage electricity raced into
his body, removing everything but
the torture of jerking muscle and
the pain of twitching nerves. It
was terrible torture. He felt that
he could count each reversal of the
low frequency, and yet he could do
nothing of his own free will. The
clock upon the wall danced before
his jerking eyeballs so that he could
not see the hands no matter how
hard he tried. Ironically, it was a
Martian clock and not calibrated
into Terran time; it would have had
no bearing on the five-minute peri-
ods of sheer hell.

XO.M A »

11

Ben Williamson raced across the
sand of Sahara Base, raising a
curling cloud of dust behind him.
The little command car rocketed
and careened as Williamson ap-
proached his destroyer, and then
the long, curling cloud of dust
took on the appearance of a huge
exclamation point as the brakes
locked and the command car slid
to a stop beside the space lock.
Williamson leaped from the com-
mand car and inside with three
long strides.

He caught the auxiliary switch on
his way past, and the space lock
whirred shut. “Executive to pilot,”
he yelled. “Take her up at six.”

The floor surged, throwing Wil-
liamson to his knees. Defiantly,
Ben crawled to the executive’s chair
atid rolled into the padded, body-
supporting seat. He lay there for
some seconds, breathing heavily.
Then from the communicator there
came the query :

“Pilot to executive: Received.

What’s doing?”

“Executive to crew : Martian of
the Mardinex class snatched Guy
Maynard on a tractor. We’re to
pursue and destroy.”

“Golly !” breathed the pilot.
“Maynard !”

“That’s right,” said Williamson.
“They grabbed him right in front
of the BuEx and that’s that.”

“But to destroy them — ?”

“We’re running under TSI or-
ders. you know,” reminded Wil-
liamson.

“Yeah, I know. But killing off
one of our own people doesn’t
sound good to me. Makes me feel

n

like a murderer.”

“I know,” said Ben. “But re-
member, Maynard was grabbed by
a Martian. Being an aide to Greg-
gor, he was filled to the eyebrows
with anti-lamine. That means the
electro-treatment for. him, plus a
good shot of iso-dinilamine. All
we’re doing is giving peace to a
man who is suffering the tortures
of hell. After all, would any of
you care to go on living after that
combination was finished?”

“No, I guess not. Must be
worse than death not to have a
mind.”

“What’s worse is what happens.
You haven’t a mind — and yet you
have enough mind to realize that
fact. Strange psychological tangle,
but there it is. Tough as it is,
we’ve got to go through with it."

“They’re after some information
on the Oriomd?”

“Probably. That’s why we’re
taking out after them. It’s the only
reason why Guv Maynard was cov-
ered under the TSI order.”

“Too bad,” said the pilot.

“It is,” agreed Williamson.
“But — prepare for action. Check
all ordnance.”

It was almost an hour later that
the communicator buzzed again.
“Observer to executive: Martian

of Mardinex class spotted.”
“Certain identification ?”

“Only from the cardex file.
Can’t see her yet, but the spotters
have picked up a ship having the
characteristics of the Mardinex
class. It’s the Mardinex herself,
Ben, because she’s the only one
left in that class. Old tub, not

A S T O r N r> I X 0 SCIENCE - FICTION

much good for anything except a
fool's errand like this.”
“Turretman to executive: Have
we got a chance, tackling a first-
line ship like the Mardinex in a
destroyer ?”

“Only one chance. They prob-
ably didn’t staff it too well. On an
abortive attempt like this, they’d
put only those men they could af-
ford to lose aboard. Probably a
skeleton crew. Also the knowledge
that detection meant extermination,
therefore go fast and light and as
frugal as possible on crewmen.
That’s our one chance.”

“One more chance,” interrupted
the technician. “We have the drive
pattern of the Mardinex in the
cardex. . We can bollix their drive.
That’s one more item in our favor.”
“Right,” said Ben. “What’s our
velocity with respect to theirs?”
"Forty miles per second.”

“Tim, launch two torpedoes im-
mediately. Pete, continue course
above Mardinex and cross their
apex at two hundred miles. Tim,
as we cross their apex, drop a case
of interferers. Once that is done,
Pete, drop back and give Tim a
chance to say hello with the Auto-
Macs.”

“Giving them the whole thing at
once ?”

“Yes. And one thing more,
Jimmy ?”

“Technician to executive,” an-
swered Jimmy. “Pm here.”

“Can you rig your drive-pattern
interferer ?”

“In about a minute. I’ve been
setting up the constants from the
cardex file.”

“And hoping they’ve not been
changed?” asked Ben with a smile.
“Right.”

The little destroyer lurched im-
perceptibly as the torpedoes were
launched, and then continued on its
course a hundred miles to the south
of the Martian ship, passing quickly
above the Mardinex and across the
apex of the Martian’s nose. The
turretman was busy for several sec-
onds dropping his case of inter-
ferers from the discharge lock. The
little metal boxes spread out in space
and began to emit signals.

Then the destroyer dropped back,
and from the turret there came the
angry buzz of the AutoMacs. On
the driving fin of the Mardinex ap-
peared an incandescent spot that
grew quickly and trailed a fine line
of luminous gas behind it. Then
the turrets of the Mardinex
whipped around and Tim shouted :
“Look out!”

His shout was not soon enough.
On the turret of the Martian ship
there appeared two spots of light
that were just above the threshold
of vision against the black sky. The
destroyer bucked dangerously, and
the acceleration fell sharply.

“Hulled us.”

On the pilot’s panel there ap-
peared a number of winking pilot
lights. “We’ll get along,” said he,
studying the lights and interpreting
their warning.

“Got him!” said the turretman.
The top turret of the Mardinex
erupted in a flare of white flame
blown outward by the air inside of
the ship.

N O MAD

IS

“Can we catch him for another
shot?’’ asked Ben pleadingly.

“Not a chance,” answered Pete.
“We’re out of this fight.”

“No, we’re not,” said Ben.
“Look !”

Before the Mardinex there began
to erupt a myriad of tiny, wink-
ing spots. The meteor spotting
equipment and projectile intercept-
ing equipment were flashing the in-
terferers one after the other with
huge bolts from the secondary bat-
tery of the Mardinex.

Ben counted the flashes and then
asked the technician: “How many
spotters has the Mardinex?”

“Thirty.”

“Good. The torps have-a chance
then.” The non-radiating torpedoes
would be ignored by the spotting
equipment since the emission of the
i nter ferers made them appear gi-
gantic and dangerously close to the
nonthinking equipment. The tor-
pedoes, on the other hand, would
be approaching the Mardinex from
below and slowly enough to be con-
sidered not dangerous to the inte-
grating equpiment. If they arrived
before the spotting circuits de-
stroyed the entire case of inter-
ferers —

The lower dome of the Mardinex
suddenly sported a jagged hole.
And almost immediately there was
a flash of explosive inside of the
lower portion of the Martian ship.
The lower observation dome split
like a cracked egg, and the glass
shattered and flew out. Portholes
blew out in long streamers of fire
around the lower third of the Mar-
dinex and a series of shattering

14

cracks started up the flank of the
ship.

“There goes number two — a
clean miss,” swore Ben.

“Number one did a fine job.”

“I know but — ”

“This’ll polish 'em off.” came
Jimmy’s voice. “Here goes the
drive scrambler."

“Hey! No — !” started Ben, but
the whining of the generators and
the dimming of the lights told him
he was too late.

The Mardinex staggered and
then leaped forward until six full
gravities. Bits of broken hull and
fractured insides trailed out behind
the Mardinex as the derelict's added
acceleration tore them loose.
Within seconds, the stricken Mar-
tian warship was out of the sight
of the Terrans.

“No reprimand, Jimmy,” said
Ben Williamson soberly. “1 did
hope to recover Guy’s body.”

II.

Thomakein, the Ertinian, stopped
the recorder as the Ter ran ship
reversed itself painfully and began
to decelerate for the trip back to
home. He nodded to himself and
made a verbal addition to the re-
cording, stating that the smaller
ship had been satisfied as to the
destruction of the larger, otherwise
a continuance of the fight would
have been inevitable. Then Thoma-
kein placed the recording in a can
and placed it on a shelf containing
other recordings. He forgot about
it_ then, for there was something
more interesting in view.

ASTOUNDING SCIFJNf'H-FTCTION

That derelict warship would be
a veritable mine of information
about the culture of this system.
All warships are gold mines of in-
formation concerning the technical
abilities, the culture, the beliefs, and
the people themselves.

Could he assume the destruction
of the crew in the derelict?

The smaller ship had — unless they
were out of the battle and forced
to withdraw due to lack of fight-
ing contact. That didn’t seem
right to Thomakein. For the
smaller ship to attack the larger
ship meant a dogged determination.
There would have been a last-try
stand on the part of the smaller
ship no matter how much faster
the larger ship were. At worst,
the determination seemed to indi-
cate that ramming the larger ship
was not out of order.

But the smaller ship had not
rammed the larger. Hadn’t even
tried. In fact, the smaller ship had
turned and started to decelerate as
soon as the larger ship had doubled
her speed.

Thomakein couldn’t read either
of the name plates of the two fight-
ing ships. He had no idea as to
the origin of the two. As an
Ertinian, Thomakein couldn’t even
recognize the characters let alone
read them. Fie was forced to go
once more on deduction.

The course of the larger vessel.
It was obviously fleeing from the
smaller ship. Thomakein played
with his computer for a bit and
came to two possibilities, one of
which was remote, the other point-
ing to the fourth planet.

A carefully collected table of
masses and other physical con-
stants of the planets of Sol was
consulted.

Thomakein retrieved his record-
ing, set it up and added:

“The smaller ship, noticing the
increased acceleration of the larger,
assumed — probably — that the larger
ship’s crew was killed by the in-
creased gravity-apparent. Since
the larger ship was fleeing, it would
in all probability have used every
bit of acceleration that the crew
could stand. Its course was dead-
center for the fourth planet’s posi-
tion if integrated for a course based
on the larger ship’s velocity and
direction and acceleration at and
prior to the engagement.

“This fourth planet has a sur-
face gravity of approximately one-
eighth of the acceleration of the
larger ship. Doubling this means
that the crew must withstand six-
teen gravities. The chances of any
being of intelligent size withstand-
ing sixteen gravities is of course
depending upon an infinite number
of factors. However, the prob-
able reasoning of the smaller ship
is that sixteen gravities will kill the
crew of the larger ship. Other-
wise they would have continued to
try to do battle with the larger ship.
Their return indicates that they
were satisfied.”

Thomakein nodded again, re-
placed the recording, apd then paced
the derelict Mardine x for a full
hour with every constant at his
disposal on the recorders.

At the end of that hour, Thoma-
kein noted that nothing had reg-

NOMA n

1*

istered and he smiled with assur-
ance.

He stretched and said to himself :
“I can stand under four gravities.
I can live under twelve with the
standard Ertinian acceleration garb.
1 hit sixteen gravities for one hour ?
Never.”

Thomakein noted the acceleration
of the derelict as being slightly over
six gravities on his own accelerom-
eter. which registered the Ertinian
constant.

Then he began to maneuver his
little ship toward the derelict.

Entering the Mardincx through
the blasted observation dome was no
great problem. The lower meteor
spotters and most of the machinery
had gone with the dome and so no
pressor came forth to keep Thoma-
kein from his intention.

The insides were a mess'. Broken
girders and ruined equipment made
a bad tangle of the lower third of
the great warship. Thomakein
jockeyed the little ship back and
forth inside of the derelict until he

had lodged it against the remainder
of a lower deck in such a manner
as to keep it there under the six
Terran gravities of acceleration.
Then he donned spacesuit and
started to prowl the ship. It was
painful and heavy going, but
Thomakein made it slowly.

An hour later, Thomakein heard
the ringing of alarms, coming from
somewhere up above, and the sound
made him stop suddenly. Sound,
he reasoned, requires air for propa-
gation. The sound came through
the floor, but somewhere there must
be air inside of the derelict.

So upward he went through the
damage. He found an air-tight
door and fought the catch until it
puffed open, nearly throwing him
back into the damaged opening.
White-faced, Thomakein held on
until his breath returned, and then
with a determined look at the gap
below — and the place where he
would have been if he had fallen
out of the derelict — Thomakein
tried the door again. He closed
the outer door and tried the inner.

Elis alien grasp of mechanics was
not universal enough to discover his
trouble immediately. But it was
logical, and logic told him to look
for the air vent. He found it, and
turned the valve permitting air to
enter the air-tight door system. The
inner door opened easily and
Thomakein entered a portion of the
hull where the alarm bells rang
loud and clear.

He found them ringing in a room
filled with control instruments.
Throwing the dome of his suit back

ASTOUND INC! SCIKNCTl FICTION

over his head, Thomakein looked
around him with interest. There
was nothing in the room that logic
or a grasp of elementary mechanics
could solve. It did Thomakein no
good to look at the Martian char-
acters that labeled the instruments
and dials, for he recognized noth-
ing of any part of the Solar System.

He did recognize the bloody lump
of inert flesh as having once been
the operator of this room — or one
of them he came to conclude as his
search found others.

Thomakein was not squeamish.
But they did litter up the place and
the pools of blood made the floor
slippery which was dangerous under
6-G Ter ran — or for Thomakein,
five point six eight. So Thomakein
struggled with the Martian bodies
and hauled them to the corridor
where he let them drop over the
edge of the central well onto the
bulkhead below. He returned to
the instrument room in an attempt
to find out what the bell-ringing
could mean.

He inspected the celestial globe
with some interest until he noticed
that the upper limb contained some
minute, luminous spheres — prolate
spheroids to be exact. Wondering,
Thomakein tried to look forward
and up with respect to the ship’s
course.

His anxiety increased. He was
about to meet a whole battle fleet
that was spread out in a dragnet
pattern. Then before he could
worry about it he was through the
network and some of the ships tried
to follow but with no success. The
Mar dine x bucked and pitched as

XOM AD

tractors were applied and subse-
quently broken as the tension
reached overload values.

Thomakein smiled. Their in-
ability to catch him plus their ob-
vious willingness to let the matter
drop with but a perfunctory try
gave him sufficient evidence as to
their origin.

They could never catch a ship
under six gravities when the best
they could do was three. The func-
tions with respect to one another
would be as though the faster ship
were accelerating away from the
slower ship by 3-G plus the initial
velocity of the faster ship’s intrin-
sic speed, for the pursuers were
standing still.

The Mardinex swept out past
Mars and Thomakein smiled more
and more. This maze of equipment
was better than anything that he
had expected. The Ertinians would
really get the information as to the
kind of people inhabited this sys-
tem.

Thomakein wandered idly from
room to room, finding dead Mar-
tians and dropping them onto the
bulkhead. Two he saved for the
surgeons of Ertene to inspect ; they
were in fair physical condition com-
pared to the rest but they were no
less dead from acceleration pres-
sure.

Eventually, Thomakein came to
the room wherein Guy Maynard
was lying strapped to the surgeon’s
table. The Ertinian opened the
door and walked idly in, looking the
room over quickly to see which

i7

item of interest was the most com-
pelling.

His glance fell upon Maynard
and passed onward to the equip-
ment on the cart beyond the Ter-
rain Then Thomakein's eyes
snapped back to the unconscious
Terran and Thomakein’s jaw fell
while his face took on an astonished
look.

Thomakein often remarked after-
wards that it was a shame that no
one of his photographically inclined
friends had been present. He’d
have enjoyed a picture of himself
at that moment and he realized the
fact.

Thomakein had ignored the dead
Martians. They were different
enough to permit him a certain
amount of callousness.

But the man strapped to the ta-
ble, and hooked up to the diabolical
looking machine was the image of
an Ertinian ! Thomakein didn’t

know what the machine was for,
but his logical mind told him that
if. this man, different from the rest,
were strapped to a table with some
sort of electronic equipment tied to
his hands, feet, and head, it was
sufficient evidence that this was a
captive and the machine some sort
of torture. He stepped forward
and jerked the electrodes from
Maynard’s inert frame and pushed
the machine backward onto the floor
with a foot.

A quick check told Thomakein
that the unknown man was not
dead, though nearly so.

He raced through the derelict to
his own ship and returned with a

stimulant. The man remained un-
conscious but alive. His eyes
opened after a long time, but be-
hind them was no sign of intelli-
gence. They merely stared fool-
ishly, and closed for long periods.

Thomakein tended the man as
best he could with the limited sup-
plies from his own ship and then
began to plan his return to Ertene
with his find.

Days passed, and Thomakein un-
willingly abandoned any hope of
having this man give him any in-
formation. The man was as one
dead. He could not speak, nor
could he understand anything.
Thomakein decided that the best
thing to do was to take the unknown
man to Ertene with him. Perhaps
Charalas, or one of his contempo-
rary neuro-surgeons could bring
this man to himself. Thomakein
diagnosed the illness as some sort
of nerve shock though he knew
that he was no man of medicine.

Yet the surgeons of Ertene were
brilliant, and if they could bring
this unknown man to himself, they
would have a gold mine indeed.

So at the proper time, Thomakein
took off from the derelict with the
mindless Guy Maynard. By now,
the derelict was far beyond the last
outpost of the Solar System and
obviously beyond detection. Thoma-
kein installed a repeater-circuit de-
tector in the wrecked ship ; it would
enable him to find the Mardinex at
some later time.

So unknowing, Guy Maynard
came to Ertene.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The first thing that reached
across the mental gap to Guy May-
nard was music. Faint, elfin music
that seemed to sway and soothe the
ragged edges of his mind. It came
and it went depending on how he
felt.

But gradually the music increased
in strength and power, and the
lapses were shorter. Warm pleas-
ant light assailed him now and gave
him a feeling of bodily well-being.
Flashes of clear thinking found
him considering the satisfied condi-
tion of his body, and the fear and
nerve-racking torture of the Mar-
tian method of extracting infornia-
tion dropped deeper and deeper
into the region of forgetfulness.

Then he realized, one day, that
he was being fed. It made him
ashamed to be fed at his age, but
the thought was fleeting and gone
before he could clutch at it and
consider why he should be ashamed.
One portion of his mind cursed the
fleetingness of such thoughts and
recognized the possibilities that
might lie in the sheer contemplation
of self.

There were periods in which
someone spoke to him in a strange
tongue. It was a throaty voice; a
woman. Maynard’s inquisitive sec-
tion tried the problem of what was
a woman and why it should stir the
rest of him and came to the meager
conclusion that it was standard for
this body to be stirred by woman;
especially women with throaty
voices. The tongue was alien; he
could understand none of it. But
the tones were soothing and pleas-
antj and they seemed to imply that

he should try to understand their
meaning.

And then the wonder of meaning
came before that alert part of May-
nard’s mind. What is meaning? it
asked. Must things have meaning?
It decided that meaning must have
some place in the body’s existence.
It reasoned thus : There is light.

Then what is the meaning of light?
Must light have a meaning? It
must have some importance. Then
if light has importance and mean-
ing, so must all things !

Even self !

So the voices strived to teach
Ertinian to the Terran while he
was still in the mindless state, and
gradually he came to think in terms
of this alien tongue. But he had
been taught to think in Terran, and
the Terran words came to mind
slowly but surely.

And then came the day when Guy
Maynard realized that he was Guy
Maynard, and that he had been
saved, somehow, from the terrors
of the Martian inquisition. He saw
the alien tongue for what it was
and wondered about it.

Where was he?

Why?

The days wore on with Maynard
growing stronger mentally. They
gave him everything they could,
these Ertinians. Scrolls were given
to him to read, and the movement
of reflections from his eyeballs mo-
tivated recording equipment that
spoke the word he was scanning
into his ear in that pleasant throaty
voice. It was lightning-fast train-
ing, but it worked, once Guy’s men-
tality went to work as an entity.

NOMAD

19

Maynard learned to read Ertiuian
printing and lastly the simplified
cursory writing.

Then with handwriting at the
gate of learning, they placed his
hand around a controlled pencil,
and the voice spoke as the controlled
pencil wrote. They spoke Ertinian
to him, not knowing Terran, though
his earlier replies were recorded.

And as he strengthened, his re-
plies made sense, and for every Er-
tiniau word impressed upon his
mind, he gave them the Terran
word. They taught him composition
and grammar as he taught them,
and whether it was by the written
script or the spoken word, the in-
terchange of knowledge was com-
plete.

One day he asked: “Where am
I?”

And the doctor replied : “You are
on Ertene.”

“That I know. But where or
what is Ertene?”

“Ertene is a wandering planet.
We found you almost dead in a
derelict spaceship and brought you
back to life.”

“I recall parts of that. But —
Ertene ?”

“Generations ago, Ertene left her
parent sun because of a great, im-
pending cataclysm. Since then we
have been wandering in space in
search of a suitable home.”

“Sol is not far away — you will
find a home there.”

The doctor smiled sagely and did
not comment on that. Maynard
wondered about it briefly and tried
to explain, but they would have
none of it.

He tried at later times, but there
was a reticence about their accept-
ing Sol. as a home sun. No matter
what attack he tried, there was a
casual reference to a decision to
be made in the future.

But their lessons continued, and
Guy progressed from the hospital to
the spacious grounds. He sought
the libraries and read quite a bit,
for they urged him to, saying:
“We can not entertain you con-
tinually. You are trot strong enough
to work, nor will we permit you
to take any position. Therefore
your best bet is to continue learn-
ing. In fact, Guy, you have a job
to perform on Ertene. You are
to become well versed in Ertinian
lore so that you may converse with
us freely and draw comparisons
between Ertene and your Terra for
us. Therefore apply yourself.”

Guy agreed that if he could do
nothing else, he could at least do
their bidding.

So he applied himself. He read.
He spoke at length with those about
him. He practised with the writing
machine. He accepted their cus-
toms with the air of one who feels
that he must, in order that he be
accepted.

And gradually he took on the
manner of an Ertinian. He spoke
with a pure Ertinian accent, he
thought in Ertinian terms, and his
hand was the handwriting of an
Ertinian. t And from his studies he
came to the next question.

“Charalas, how could you tell me
from an Ertinian?”

Charalas smiled. “We can.”

20

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-DICTION

‘‘But how? It is not apparent.”
‘‘Not to you. It is one of those
things that you miss because you
are too close to it. It is like your
adage: ‘Cannot see the forest for
the trees.’ It will come out.”
‘‘Come out?”

“Grow out,” smiled the neuro-
surgeon. “Your . . . beard. You
notice that I used the Terran name.
That is because we have no com-
parable term in Ertinian. That is
because no Ertinian ever grew hair
on his face. Daily, you . . . shave
. . . with an edged tool we fur-
nished you upon your request. You
were robotlike in those days, Guy.
You performed certain duties in-
stinctively and the lack of . . . shav-
ing equipment . . . caused you no
end of mental concern. Thomakein
studied your books and had a . . .
razor . . . fashioned for you.”
“Whiskers. I never noticed
that.”

“No, it is one of those things.
Save for that, Guy, you could lose
yourself among us. The . . . mus-
tache . . . you wear marks you on
Ertene as an alien.”

“I could shave that off.”

“No. Do not. It is a mark of
distinction. Everyone on Ertene
has seen your picture with it and
therefore you will be accorded the
deference we show an alien when
people see it. Otherwise you would
be expected to behave as we do in
all things.”

“That I can do.”

“We know that. But there is
another reason for our request. One
day you will know about it. It
has to do with our decision con-

cerning alliance with Sol’s family.”
Guy considered. “Soon?”

“It will be some time.”

Again that unwillingness to dis-
cuss the future. Guy thought it
over and decided that this was some-
thing beyond him. He, too, let the
matter drop for the present and
took a new subject.

“Charalas, this sun of yours. It
is not a true sun.”

“No,” laughed Charalas. “It is
not.”

“Nor is it anything like a true
sun. Matter is stable stuff only
under certain limits. If that size
were truly solar matter, it would
necessarily be so dense that space
would be warped in around it so
tight that nothing could emerge —
radiation, I mean. To the observer,
it would not exist. That is axio-
matic. If a bit of solar matter of
that size were isolated, it would
merely expand and cool in a mat-
ter of hours — if it were solar-core
matter it would probably be cur-
tains for anything that tried to live
in the neighborhood. Matter of
that size is stable only at reason-
able temperatures. I don’t know
the limits, but I’d guess that three
or four thousand degrees kelvin
would be tops. Oh, I forgot the
opposite end ; the very high tem-
perature white dwarf might be that
size — but it would warp space as
1 said before and thus do no good.
Therefore a true sun of that size
and mass is impossible.

“Another thing, Charalas. We
are close to Sol. A light-week or
less. That would have been seen
. . . should have been seen by our

31

xow An

observatories. Why haven't they
seen it?”

“Our shield,” explained Charalas,
“explains both. You see, Guy, in
order that a planet may wander
space, some means of solar effect
must be maintained. As you say,
nothing practical can be found in
nature. Our planet drive is poorly
controlled. We can not maneuver
Ertene as you would a spaceship.
It requires great power to even shift
the course of Ertene by so much as
a few degrees. We’ve taken luck
as a course through the galaxy and
have visited only those stars that
have lain along our course. Trying
to swing anything of solar mass
vvould be impossible. Ertene would
merely leave the sun ; the sun would
not answer Ertene’s gravitational
pull.

“But this is trivial. Obviously
we have no real sun. But we
needed one.” Charalas smiled shyly.
“At this point 1 must sound brag-
gart,” he said, “but it was an an-
cestor of mine — Timalas — who
brought Ertene her sun.”

“Great sounding guy,” com-
mented the Terran.

“He was. Ertene left the parent
sun with only the light-shield. The
light-shield, Guy, is a screen of
energy that permits radiation to
pass inwardly but not outwardly.
Thus we collect the radiation of all
the stars and lose but a minute
quantity of the input from losses.
That kept Ertene warm during
those first years of our wandering.

“It also presented Ertene with a
serious problem. The entire sky

22

was faintly luminous. It was
neither night nor day at any place
on Ertene, but a half-light all the
time. Disconcerting and entirely
alien to the human animal. Evo-
lutionary strains might have ap-
peared to accept this strange con-
dition, but Timalas decided that
Intis, the lesser moon, would serve
as a sun. He converted the screen
slightly, distorting it so that the
focal point for incoming radiation
was at Intis. The lesser moon be-
came incandescent, eventually, and
serves a.s Ertene’s sun. It is syn-
thetic. The other radiations that
prove useful to growing things and
to man but which are not visible
are emitted right from the inner
surface of the light-shield itself.
Intis serves as the source of light
and most of the heat. It is a
natural effect, giving us beautiful
sunrises and peaceful sunsets. The
radiation that causes growth and
healthful effects is ever-present, be-
cause of the screen. Some heat,
too, for that is included in the bene-
ficial radiation. But the visible
spectrum is directed at Intis along
with a great quantity of the heat
rays. Intis is small, Guy, and it is
also beneficial that the re-radiation
from Intis that misses Ertene and
falls on the screen is converted also.
Much of Ertene’s power is derived
from the screen itself — a back-en-
ergy collected from the screen gen-
erator.”

“So the effective sun is the re-
sult of an energy shield ? And this
same shield prevents any radiation
from leaving this region. I can
see why we haven’t seen Ertene.

ASTOUNDING SOT K NOE FICTION

You can’t see something that doesn’t
radiate. But what about occulta-
tion ?”

“Quite possible. But the size of
the screen is such that it is of
stellar size as seen from stellar dis-
tances. It is but a true point in
space.” Charalas smiled. “I was
about to say a point-source of light
similar to a star but the shield is
a point-source of no-light, really.
Occultation is possible but the prob-
abilities are remote, plus the prob-
ability of a repeat, so that the ob-
server would consider the brief
occultation of the star anything but
an accident to his photographic
plate.”

“Don’t get you on that.”

“It’s easy, Guy. Take a star-
photograph and lay a thin line
across it and see how many stars
are really covered by this line —
which is of the thickness of the stars
themselves. Too few for a non-
suspecting observer to tie together
into a theo$. No, we are safe
from detection.”

“Detection ?”

“Yes. Call it that. Suppose we
were to pass through a malignant
culture. We did, three generations
ago and it was only our shield that
saved us from being absorbed into
that system. We would have been
slaves to that civilization.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“Certainly,” said Guy. “You in-
tend to have me present the Solar
Government to your leaders. Upon
my tale will rest your decision. You
will decide whether to join us — or
to pass undetected.”

“I believe you understand," said
Charalas. “So study well and be
prepared to draw the most discern-
ing comparisons, for the Council
will ask the most delicate questions
and you should be able to discuss
any phase of Ertene’s social, sys-
tem and the corresponding Terran
system.”

Mentally, Guy bade good-by to
Sol. He applied himself to his Er-
tinian lessons because he felt that
if Sol were lost to him — as it might
be — he could at least enter the Er-
tinian life as an Ertinian.

III.

Guy Maynard, the Terran, be-
came steeped in Ertinian lore. He
went at it with the same intensity
that he went at anything else, and
possibly driven with the heart-chill-
ing thought that he might not be
able to convince Ertene that Sol
had a place for her. He saw that
possibility, and prayed against it,
yet he realized that Ertene was a
planet of her own mind and that
they might decide against alliance.
It was a selling job he had to do.

And if not —

Guy Maynard would have to re-
main on Ertene. Therefore in either
case it would serve him best to
become as Ertinian as possible. He
did not believe that they would
exile him — that would be danger-
ous. Nor did he believe that death
would accompany his failure to con-
vince Ertene of their place around
Sol. The obvious course in case
of failure would be to permit him
the freedom of the planet; to be-

NOMAD

23

come in effect, an Ertinian.

He’d be under watch, of course.
Escape would prove dangerous for
their integrity. Imprisonment was
not impossible, but he hoped that
his failure to convince would not
be so sorry as to have them suspect
him.

Of course, an opportunity to es-
cape would be taken, unless he gave
his word of honor. Yet, he had
sworn the oath of an officer in
Terra’s space fleet, and that oath
compelled him to serve Terra in
spite of danger, death, or dishonor
to self. He must not give his pa-
role—

Guy fought himself over that
problem for days and days. It led
him in circular thinking, the outlet
to which would be evident only
when he found out the Ertinian re-
action. Too much depended on that
trend;- there were too many ifs
standing between him and any plan
for the future.

He forgot his mental whirl in
study. He investigated Ertinian
science and tucked a number of
items away in his memory. He
visited the observatory and after a
number of visits he plotted Ertene
in the celestial sphere within a few
hundred thousand miles. That, too,
he filed away in his memory along
with the course of the wanderer.

He learned that his place of con-
valescence was no hospital, but
Thomakein’s estate. It staggered
him. Thomakein was — must be —
a veritable dynamo of energetic
mentality to have the variety of in-
terests as reflected in the trappings
about the estate. The huge library,

24

the observatory, the laboratories.
How many of the things he saw and
studied were Thomakein’s personal
property he would never know ;
though he did know that some of
them came from museums and in-
stitutes across the planet.

He wondered about Thomakein.
He had never seen his saviour
since his mind had come back. He
recalled vague things, but nothing
cogent. He asked Charalas about
Thomakein.

“Thomakein’s main problem is
Sol,” explained Charalas. “A prob-
lem which you have made easy for
him. However, he is on the dere-
lict, studying the findings there. A
\yarship is a most interesting mu-
seum of the present, you know.
Often things of less than perfect
operation are there ; things that will
eventually become perfected and es-
tablished into private use. It is
almost a museum of the future.
Thomakein will learn much there
and he has been commissioned to
remain on the derelict until he has
catalogued every item on it.”

“Lone life, isn't it?” asked Guy.

“He has friends. Last I heard
from him, he had sealed the usable
portion of the derelict against the
void, and was turning the course to
bring it toward Ertene. Eventually
the wreck will circle Ertene. Per-
haps we may attempt to land it
here.”

“It’ll be a nice museum piece,”
said Guy, “but it will not endear
you to those of Mars.”

“I know. Of course if we ac-
cept Sol’s offer, we will destroy it
completely.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

“Keep ft," said Guy, shrugging
his shoulders. “Ertene will find
little in common with Mars. It will
he Terra and Ertene; together we
will form the nucleus of Solar
power.”

“So?”

“Naturally. Ertene and Terra
are the most alike, even to the flora
and fauna.”

“I see.”

Charalas let the matter drop as
he did before. Guy tried to open
the line of thought again, but met
with no success. It was not a mat-
ter of indifference to Guy’s argu-
ments, but more a complete disin-
clination to make any sort of state-
ment prior to the decision of the
Council of Ertene. Realizing that
this decision was one of the single-
try variety, Guy studied hard dur-
ing the next few days. There
would be no appeal even though he
tried to get another hearing during
the rest of his life.

He wondered how soon it would
be.

Charalas landed on Thomakein’s
estate in a small flier and asked Guy
if he would like to see the famous
Hall of History. They flew a
quarter of the way around the
planet, and during the trip, Charalas
pointed out scenes of interest. It
was enlightening to Guy, who hadn’t
seen anything beyond a few miles
of Thomakein’s estate. There were
farms laid out on the production-
line scale while the cities and towns
that housed the farmers were
sprawling, rustic villages of simple
beauty. The larger cities had

evolved from the square-block and
rubber-stamp home kind to special-
ized aggregations in which the cen-
tral, business sections were close-
knit while the residences were wide-
spread and well apart, giving each
family adequate breathing room.

“The railroad,” smiled Charalas,
“is still with us. It will never leave,
because shipments of heavy machin-
ery of low necessity can be trans-
ported cheaper that way. Like the
barges that ply the rivers with coal,
ore. and grain, they are powered
with adaptations of the space drive,
but they are none the less barges
or trains.”

“They’ve found that, too.”
laughed Guy. “There is little eco-
nomic value in trying to ship a
million tons of coal by flier.”

“Normally, you should say. The
slowest conveyor system is rapid if
the conveyor is always filled and
the material is not perishable. Coal
and ore have been here for eons.
Therefore it is no hardship to wait
for six weeks while a given ton of
ore gets across the continent, pro-
vided that the user can remove a
ton of ore from the conveying sys-
tem simultaneously with the place-
ment of another ton that will not
get there for six weeks.”

“Sounds correct, though I’ve
never thought of it in that man-
ner,” said Guy thoughtfully. “But
that must be why it is done. We
hull ore across space untended, and
in pre-calculated orbits, picking it
up at Terra from Pluto, for in-
stance. The driverless and crew-
less hull is packed with ore, towed
into space by a space tug and set

NOMAD

25

into its orbit, the tug then returning
to the shipping area to await the
next hull. The hull may take a
couple of years to get to Terra, but
when it does, it begins to emit a
finder-signal and Terran space tugs
pick the hull up and lower it to
Terra. The hulls are returned with
unperishable supplies to the Pluto-
nian miners.”

“We hadn’t the necessity of ap-
plying that thought to space ship-
ping,” answered Charalas. “Tonis,
the larger moon, is so close that
special shipping methods are not
needed. We have but a few colo-
nists there, most of which are mem-
bers ofthe laboratory staff.”

“You’ve found moon laboratories
essential in space work, too?” asked
Guy.

“Naturally. Tonis is airless and
upon it is the Ertinian astronomical
laboratory.”

%“Moons — even sterile moons — are
good' for that.” said Guy. “They —
Say, Charalas, what is that collec-
tion of buildings below here ? They
look like something extra-special.”

“They are. That is the place
we’re going to see.”

Charalas put the flier into a steep
dive and landed in the open space
between the buildings. They en-
tered the long, low building at the
end opposite the most ornate build-
ing of the seven that surrounded
the landing area and Charalas told
the receptionist that they were ex-
pected.

The long hall was excellently illu-
minated, and on either side of the
corridor were murals ; great twelve-

26

foot panels of rare color and of
photographic detail. Upon close ex-
amination they proved to be paint-
ings.

The first panel showed an impres-
sion of the formation of Ertene,
along with the other eleven planets
of Ertene’s parent sun. It was
colorful, and impressionistic in char-
acter rather than an attempt to
portray the actual cataclysm that
formed the planets. The next few
panels were of geologic interest,
giving the impressions of Ertene
through the long, geologic periods.
There were dinosaur-picturizations
next, and the panels brought them
forward in irregular steps through
the carboniferous; through the gla-
cial ages ; through the dawn ages ;
and finally into the coming of man
to power.

The next fourteen panels were
used in the rise of man on Ertene
from the early ages to full, efficient
civilization. They were similar to
a possible attempt to portray a sim-
ilar period on Terra, showing wars,
life in the cities of power during
the community-power ages, and the
fall of several powerful cities.

Then the rise of widespread gov-
ernment came with its more closely-
knit society made possible by better
means of communication and trans-
portation. This went on and on
until the facility of the combining
factors made separate governments
on Ertene untenable, and there were
seven great, fiery panels of mighty,
widespread wars.

“Up to here, it is similar to ours,”
commented Guy.

“And here it changes,” said

AST Ol) NO I NO SCIBNCE-FTCTTOX

Charalas. “For the next panels show
the impending doom of Ertene’s
parent sun. The problem of space
had been conquered but the other
planets were of little interest to
Ertene. We fought about four in-
terplanetary wars as you see here,
all against alien races. Then came
trouble. The odd chance of a run-
away star coming near Ertene did
happen, and we faced the decision of
living near an unstable sun for cen-
turies, for our astronomers calcu-
lated that the two stars would pass
close enough to cause upheavals in
the suns that would result in in-
stability for thousands, perhaps mil-
lions of years.”

“Instability might not have been
so bad,” said Guy thoughtfully, “if
it could be predicted. No, I'm not
speaking in riddles,” he laughed.
“I may sound peculiar, saying that
it would be possible to predict in-
stability. But a regular variable of
the cepheid type is predictable in-
stability.”

“True. But we had no basis for
prediction. After all, it would have
been taking a chance. Suppose that
the instability had caused a nova?
Epitaphs are nice but none the less
final. We left hundreds of years
before the solar proximity. Now
we know that we might have sur-
vived, but as you know, we can not
swerve Ertene’s course readily and
though we are slowly turning, the
race may have died out and gone
for a galactic eon before we could
return. Once the race dies out —
or the interest in returning to a
certain sun hack there in the depths
of the galaxy dies — we will cease

ar

NOMAD

to turn. We may fine a haven some-
where, before then.”

‘‘You were speaking of years,”
said Guy. “Was that a loose ref-
erence or were you approximating
my conception of a year?”

“A year is a loose term indeed,
no matter by whom it is used,” said
Charalas. ‘‘To you, it is three hun-
dred and sixty-five, and about a
quarter, days. A day is one revo-
lution of Terra. From Mars, say,
a Terran year is something else en-
tirely. Mars, of course, is not too
good an example for its sidereal
day is very close to Terra’s. But
your Venus, with its eighteen hour
day — eighteen Terran hours — sees
Terra’s year as four hundred eighty-
six, plus, days. On Ertene, we have
no year. We had one, once. It was
composed of four hundred twelve
point seven zero four two two nine
three one days, sidereal. Now, our
day is different, since the length of
the solar day depends upon the pro-
gression of the planet about its
luminary. Our luminary behaves
as a moon with a high ecliptic-angle
as I have explained. No, Guy, I
have been mentally converting my
year to your year, by crude ap-
proximation.”

The next panel was an ornate
painting of the Ertinian system,
showing — out of scale for artistic
purpose — the planets and sun, with
Ertene drawing away in a long
spiral.

“For many years we pursued that
spiral, withdrawing from the sun
by slow degrees. Then we broke
free.” Charalas indicated the panel
which showed Ertene in the fore-

36

ground while the clustered system
was far behind.

They passed from panel to panel,
all of which were interesting to
Guy Maynard. There was a series
of the first star contacted by Er-
tene. It was a small system, cold
and forbidding, or hot and equally
forbidding. The outer planets were
in the grip of frozen air, and the
inner planets bubbled in molten-
ness. “This system was too far out
of line to turn. It was our first
star, and we might have stayed in
youthfulness. Now, we know bet-
ter.”

The next panel showed a dimly-
lighted landscape; a portrayal of
Ertene without its synthetic sun.
The luminous sky was beautiful in
a nocturnal sort of way; to Guy it
was slightly nostalgic for some un-
known reason, at any rate it was the
soul of sadness, that landscape.

Charalas shook his head and then
smiled. He led Guy to the next
panel, and there was a portrait of
an elderly man, quite a bit older than
Charalas though the neuro-surgeon
was no young man. “Timalas,”
said Charalas proudly. “He gave
us the next panel.”

The following panel was a sim-
ilar scene to the dismal one, but
now the same trees and buildings
and hills and sky were illuminated
by a sun. It was a cheerful, up-
lifting scene compared to the soul-
clouding darkness.

Ertene was a small sphere en-
circled by a band of peaceful black
in a raving sky of fire and flame.
Three planets fought in the death

ASTOUNDING SOIBNCF.-FICTTON

throes, using every conceivable
weapon. Space was riven with
blasting beams of energy and segre-
gated into square areas by far-flung
cutting planes. Raging energy con-
sumed spots on each of the planets
and the corners of the panel were
tangled masses of broken machin-
ery and burning wreckage, and the
hapless images of trapped men. But
Ertene passed through this holo-
caust unseen because of Timalas’
light-shield.

“He saved us that, too,” said
Charalas reverently. “We could
not have hoped to survive in this.
Our science was not up to theirs,
though the aid of a derelict or two
gave us most of their science of
war. I doubt that Terra herself
could have survived. We passed
unseen, though we worried for a
hundred years lest they find us.”

A race of spiders overran four
of the planets of the next panel.
They were unintelligent, there was
a questioning air to the panel, as
though posing the query as to how
this race of spiders had crossed the
void. And the picture of an Erti-
nian dying because contact with one
of the spiders indicated their rea-
son for not remaining.

The next panel showed a whole
system with ammoniated atmos-
phere. “It was before the last
panel,” said Charalas, “that Ertene
became of age as far as the wander-
lust went. We knew that we could
survive. We wanted no system
wherein Ertene would be alone. Of
what use to civilization would a
culture be if its people could never
leave the home planet?”

NOMAD

“No,” agreed Guy. “Once a race
has conquered space, they must use
it. It would restrict the knowledge
of a race not to use space.”

“So we decided never to accept
a system wherein we could not
travel freely to other planets. Who
knows, but the pathway to the
planets may be but the first, falter-
ing step to the stars?”

“We’d never have reached the
planets if we’d never flown on the
air,” agreed Guy.

“We prefer company, too,”
smiled Charalas, pointing out the
next panels. One was of a normal
system but in which the life was
not quite ready for the fundamen-
tals of science and therefore likely
to become slave-subject to the Er-
tinian mastery. The next was a
system in which the intelligent life
had overrun the system and had
evolved to a high degree — and Er-
tene might have been subject to
them if they had remained. “Un-
fortunately we could learn nothing
from them.” said the Ertinian. “It
was similar to an ignorant savage
trying to learn something from us.”
Then they came to a panel in
which there were ten planets. It
was a strange collection of oppo-
sites all side by side. There were
several races, some fighting others,
some friendly with others. Plenty
and poverty sat hand in hand, and
in one place a minority controlled
the lives of the majority while pro-
fessing to be ruled by majority-rule.
Men strived to perfect medicine
and increase life-expectancy and
other men fought and killed by the
hundreds of thousands. A cold and

29

forbidding planet was rich in essen-
tial ore, and populated by a semi-
intelligent race of cold-blooded crea-
tures. The protectors of these poor
creatures were the denizens of a
high civilization, who used them to
tight their petty fights for them, un-
der the name of unity. For their
trouble, they took the essential ores
to their home planet and exchanged
items of dubious worth. The tres-
pass of a human by the natives of
a slightly populated moon caused
the decimation of the natives, while
the humans used them by the hun-
dreds in vivisection since their anat-
omy was quite similar to the hu-
man’s.

“Where is Ertene?” asked Guy.

“Ertene is not yet placed,” said
Charalas.

“No?” asked Guy in wonder.

“No,” said Charalas with a queer
smile. “Ertene is still not sure of
her position. You see, Guy, that
system is Sol.”

Guy Maynard stood silent, think-
ing. It was a blow to him, this
picturization of the worlds of Sol
as seen through the eyes of a totally
alien race. His own feelings he
analyzed briefly, and he knew that
in his own heart, he was willing to
shade any decisions concerning the
civilization of Ertene in the Erti-
nian favor ; had any dispute between
Ertene and a mythical dissenter,
Guy would have had his decision
weighted in favor of the wanderer
for one reason alone.

Ertinians were human to the last
classification !

Guy smiled inwardly. “Blood is

thicker than water,” he thought to
himself, and he knew that while the
old platitude was meant to cover
blood-relations who clung together
in spite of close bonds with friends
not of blood relationship, it could
very well be expanded to cover this
situation. Obviously he as a Ter-
ran would tend to support a hitman
race against a merely humanoid
race. He would fight the Martians
for Ertene just as*he would fight
them for Terra.

Fighting Ertene itself was un-
thinkable. They were too human ;
Ertene was too Terran to think of
strife between the two worlds. Be-
ing of like anatomy, they would and
should ding together against the
whole universe of alien bodies.

•But — -

He had spoken to Charalas, to the
nurses, to the groundkeepers, and
to the scientists who came to learn
of him and from him. He had
told them of Terra and of the Solar
System. He had explained the
other worlds in detail and his own
interpretation of those other cul-
tures.

And still they depicted Terra in
no central light. Terra did not
dominate the panel. It vied with
the other nine planets and their satel-
lites for the prominence it should
have held.

What was wrong?

Knowing that he would have fa-
vored Ertene for the anatomical
reasons alone, Guy worried. Had
his word-picture been so poor that
Ertene gave the other planets their
place in the panel in spite of the
natural longing to place their own

30

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

kind above the rest?

“I should think — ” he started
haltingly, but Charalas stopped him.

“Guy Maynard, you must under-
stand that Ertene is neutral. Per-
haps the first neutral you’ve ever
seen. Believe that, Guy, and be
warned that Ertene is capable of
making her own, very discerning
decision.”

Guy did not answer. He knew
something else, now. Ertene was
not going to be easily convinced that
Sol was the place for them. She
was neutral, yes, but there was
something else.

Ertene had the wanderlust!

For eons, Ertene had passed in
her unseen way through the galaxy.
She had seen system after system,
and the lust for travel was upon
her. Travel was her life, and had
been for hundreds of generations.

Her children had been bora and
bred in a closed system, free from
stellar bonds. Their history was a
vast storehouse of experience such
as no other planet had ever had.
Every generation brought them to
another star and each succeeding
generation added to the wisdom of
Ertene as it extracted or tried to
extract some bit of knowledge from
each system through which Ertene
passed.

With travel her natural life, the
wandering planet would be loath to
cease her transient existence.

Like a man who has spent too
many years in bachelorhood, flitting
like a butterfly from lip to lip, Er-
tene had become inured to a single
life. It would take a definite at-

traction to swerve her from her self-
sufficiency.

These tilings came to Maynard
as he stood in thought. He knew
then that his was no easy job. Not
the simple proposition of asking
Ertene to join her own kind in an
orbit about Sol. Not the mere sign-
ing of a pact would serve. Not the
Terran-shaded history of the worlds
of Sol with the Terran egotism that
did not admit that Terra could pos-
sibly be wrong.

Ertene must be made to see the
attractiveness of living in May-
nard’s little universe. It must be
made more attractive than the in-
teresting possibilities offered by the
unknown worlds that lie ahead on
her course through the galaxy.

All this plus the natural reticence
of Ertene to become involved in a
system that ran rife with war. The
attractiveness of Sol must be so
great that Ertene would remain in
spite of war and alien hatred.

And Maynard knew in his heart
that he was not the one to sway them
easily. Part of his mind felt akin
to their desire to roam. Even know-
ing that he would not live on Ertene
to see the next star he wanted to
go with them in order that his chil-
dren might see it.

And yet his honor was directed
at the service of Terra. His sacred
oath had been given to support and
strive to the best interest of Terra
and Sol.

He put away the desire to roam
with Ertene and thought once more
of the studying he must do to con-
vince Ertene of the absolute fool-
ishness of continuing in their search

NOMAD

St

for a more suitable star than Sol
about which to establish a residence.

Maynard turned to Charalas and
saw that the elderly doctor had been
watching him intently. Before he
could speak, the Ertinian said: “It
is a hard nut to crack, lad. Many
have tried but none have succeeded.
Like most things that are best for
people, they are the least exciting
and the most formal, and people do
not react cheerfully to a formal
diet.”

Maynard shook his head. “But
unlike a man with ulcers, I cannot
prescribe a diet of milk lest he die.
Ertene will go on living no matter
whether I speak and sway them or
whether I never say another word.
I am asked to convince an entire
world against their will. I can not
tell them that it is the slightest bit
dangerous to go on as they have.
In fact, it may be dangerous for
them to remain. In all honesty, 1
must admit that Terra is not with-
out her battle scars.”

Charalas said, thoughtfully :
“Who knows what is best for civil-
ization? We do not, for we are
civilization. We do as we think
best, and if it is not best, we die
and another civilization replaces us
in Nature’s long-time program to
find the real survivor.”

He faced the panel and said,
partly to himself and partly to Guy :

“Is it best for Ertene to go on
through time experimenting ? Gath-
ering the fruits of a million civiliza-
tions bound forever to their stellar
homes because of the awful abyss
between the stars ? For the planets

#2

all to become wanderers would be
chaos.

“Therefore is it Nature’s plan
that Ertene be the one planet to
gather unto herself the fruit of all
knowledge and ultimately lie barren
because of the sterility of her cul-
ture? Are we to be the sponge for
all thought? If so, where must it
end? What good is it? Is this
some great master plan? Will we,
after a million galactic years, reach
a state where we may disseminate
the knowledge we have gained, or
are we merely greedy, taking all
and giving nothing?

“What are we learning? And,
above all, are we certain that Er-
tene’s culture is best for civiliza-
tion? How may we tell? The
strong and best adapted survive,
and since we are no longer striving
against the lesser forces of Nature
on our planet, and indeed, are no
longer striving against those of anti-
social thought among our own peo-
ple— against whom or what do we
fight?

“Guy Maynard, you are young
and intelligent. Perhaps by some
whimsy of fate you may be the
deciding factor in Ertene’s aimless-
ness. We are here, Guy. We are
at the gates to the future. My real
reason for bringing you to the Cen-
ter of Ertene is to have you present
your case to the Council.”

He took Guy’s arm and led him
through the door at the end of the
corridor. They went into the gilt-
and-ivory room with the vast hemi-
spherical dome and as the door
slowly closed behind them, Guy
Maynard, Terran, and Charalas, Er-

ASTOUNDING SC IENCE-P I CT ION

tinian, stood facing a quarter-circle
of ornate desks behind which sat
the Council.

Obviously, they had been waiting.

IV.

Guy Maynard looked reproach-
fully at Charalas. He felt that he
had been tricked , that Charalas had
kicked the bottom out of his argu-
ment and then had forced him into
the debate with but an impromptu
defense. He wondered how this
discussion was to be conducted, and
while he was striving to collect a
lucid story, part of his mind heard
Charalas going through the usual
procedure for recording purposes.
“Who is this man?”

“He is Junior Executive Guy
Maynard of the Terran Space Pa-
trol.”

“Explain his title.”

“It is a rank of official service.
It denotes certain abilities and re-
sponsibilities.”

“Can you explain the position of
bis rank with respect to other rat-
ings of more or less responsibility ?”
Charalas counted off on his fin-
gers. “From the lowest rank up-
ward, the following titles are used :
Junior Aide, Senior Aide, Junior
Executive, Senior Executive, Sector
Commander, Patrol Marshal, Sec-
tor Marshal, and Space Marshal.”
“These are the commissioned of-
ficers? Are there other ratings?”
“Yes, shall I name them?”
“Prepare them for the record.
There is no need of recounting the
noncommissioned officials.”

“I understand.”

“How did Guy Maynard come to
Ertene ?”

“Maynard was rescued from a
derelict spaceship.”

“By whom?”

“Thomakein.”

“Am I to assume that Thomakein
brought him to Ertene for study?”
“That assumption is correct.”
“The knowledge of the system of
Sol is complete?”

“Between the information fur-
nished by Guy Maynard and the
observations made by Thomakein,
the knowledge of Sol's planets is
sufficient. More may be learned
before Ertene loses contact, but for
the time, it is adequate.”

“And Guy Maynard is present for
the purpose of explaining the Ter-
ran wishes in the question of
whether Ertene is to remain here ?”
“Correct.”

The councilor who sat in the cen-
ter of the group smiled at Guy and
said: “Guy Maynard, this is an in-
formal meeting. You are to rest
assured we will not attempt to goad
you into saying something you do
not mean. If you are unprepared
to answer a given question, ask for
time to think. We will understand.
However, we ask that you do not
try to shade your answers in such
a manner as to convey erring im-
pressions. This is not a court of
law; procedure is not important.
Speak when and as you desire and
understand that you will not be
called to account for slight breaches
of etiquette, since we all know that
formality is a deterrent to the real
point in argument.”

Charalas added : “Absolute for-

83

N O M A D

mality in argument usually ends in
the decision going to the best orator.
This is not desirable, since some of
the more learned men are poor ora-
tors, while some of the best orators
must rely upon the information
furnished them by the learned.”

The center councilor arose and
called the other six councilors by
name in introduction. This was
slightly redundant since their names
were all present in little bronze signs
on the desks. It was a pleasantry
aimed at putting the Terran at ease
and offering him the right to call
them by name.

“Now,” said Terokar, the center
one, “we shall begin. Everything
we have said has been recorded for
the records. But, Guy, we will re-
move anything from the record that
would be detrimental to the integ-
rity of any of us. We will play it
back before you leave and you may
censor it.”

“Thank you,” said Guy. “Know-
ing that records are to be kept as
spoken will often deter honest ex-
pression.”

“Quite true. That is why we per-
mit censoring. Now, Guy, your
wishes concerning Ertene’s alliance
with Sol.”

“I invite Ertene to join the Solar
System."

“Your invitation is appreciated.
Please understand that the accept-
ance of such an invitation will
change Ertene’s social structure for-
ever, and that it is not to be taken
lightly.”

“I realize that the invitation is

not one to accept lightly. It is a
large decision.”

“Then what has Sol to offer?”
“A stable existence. The com-
merce of an entire system and the
friendship of another world of sim-
ilar type in almost every respect.
The opportunity to partake in a
veritable twinship between Ertene
and Sol, with all the ramifications
that such a brotherhood would of-
fer.”

“Ertene’s existence is stable, Guy.
Let us consider that point first.”
“How can any wandering pro-
gram be considered stable?”

“We are born, we live, and we die.
Whether we are fated to spend our
lives on a nomad planet or ulti-
mately become the very center of
the universe about which everything
revolves, making Ertene the most
stable planet of them all, Ertinians
will continue living. When nomad-
ism includes the entire resources of
a planet, it can not be instable.”
“Granted. But do you hope to
go on forever?”

“How old is your history, Guy?”
“From the earliest of established
dates, taken from the stones of
Assyria and the artifacts of Maya,
some seven thousand years.”
Charalas added a lengthy discus-
sion setting the length of a Terran
year.

“Ertinian history is perhaps a bit
longer,” said Terokar. “And so
who can say ‘forever’?”

“No comment,” said Guy with a
slight laugh. “But my statements
concerning stability are not to be
construed as the same type of in-
stability suffered by an itinerant

34

A STOUNDINO SC IKNCB-F ICT TO X

human. He has no roots, and few
friends, and he gains nothing nor
does he offer anything to - society.
No, I am wrong. It is the same
thing. Ertene goes on through the
eons of wandering. She has no
friends and no roots and while she
may gain experience and knowledge
of the universe just as the tramp
will, her ultimate gain is poor and
her offering to civilization is zero.”
“I dispute that. Ertene’s life has
become better for the experience she
has gained and the knowledge, too.”
“Perhaps. But her offering to
civilization?”

“We are not a dead world. Per-
haps some day we may be able to
offer the storehouses of our knowl-
edge to some system that will need
it. Perhaps we are destined to
become the nucleus of a great, galac-
tic civilization.”

“Such a civilization will never
work as long as men are restrained
as to speed of transportation. Could
any pact be sustained between plan-
ets a hundred light-years apart ? In-
deed, could any pact be agreed
upon ?”’

“I cannot answer that save to
agree. However, somewhere there
may be some means of faster-than-
light travel and communication. If
this is found, galactic-wide civiliza-
tion will not only be possible but a
definite expectation.”

“You realize that you are asking
for Ertene a destiny that sounds
definitely egotistic ?”

“And why not ? Are you not sold
on the fact that Terra is the best
planet in the Solar System?”
“Naturally.”

“Also,” smiled Charalas, “the
Martians admit that Mars is the
best planet.”

“Granted then that Ertene is
stable. Even granting for the mo-
ment that Ertene is someday to be-
come the nucleus of the galaxy. I
still claim that Ertene is missing one
item.” Guy waited for a moment
and then added : “Ertene is missing
the contact and commerce with other
races. Ertene is self-sufficient and
as such is stagnant as far as new.
life goes. Life on Ertene has
reached the ultimate — for Ertene.
Similarly, life on Terra had reached
that point prior to the opening of
space. Life must struggle against
something, and when the struggle
is no longer possible — when all pos-
sible obstruction has been circum-
vented— then life decays.”

“You see us as decadent?”

“Not yet. The visiting of sys-
tem after system has kept you from
total decadence. It is but a stasis,
however. Unless one has the sam-
ples of right and wrong from which
to choose, how may he know his
own course?”

“Of what difference is it?” asked
the councilor named Baranon. “If
there is no dissenting voice, if life
thrives, if knowledge and science
advance, what difference does it
make whether we live under one so-
cial order or any other? If thiev-
ery and wrongdoing, for instance,
could support a system of social
importance, and the entire popula-
tion lives under that code and
thrives, of what necessity is it to
change ?”

NOMAD

AST— 2S

35

“Any social order will pyramid,”
said Guy. “Either up or down.”

“Granted. But if all are prepared
to withstand the ravages of their
neighbors, and are eternally pre-
pared to live under constant strife,
no man will have hig rights trod
upon.”

“But what good is this eternal
wandering ? This everlasting eye
upon the constantly receding hori-
zon? This never ending search for
the proper place to stop in order
that this theoretical galactic civiliza-
tion may start? At Ertene’s state
of progress, one place will be as
good as any other,” said Guy.

“Precisely, except that some
places are definitely less desirable.
Recall, Guy, that Ertene needs noth-
ing.”

“I dispute that. Ertene needs
the contact with the outside worlds.”

“No.”

“You are in the position of a
recluse who loves his seclusion.”

“Certainly.”

“Then you are in no position to
appreciate any other form of social
order.”

“We care for no other social
order.”

“I mentioned to Charalas that in
my eyes, you are wrong. That I
am being asked to prescribe for a
patient who will not die for lack
of my prescription. I can not even
say that the patient will benefit di-
rectly. My belief is as good as
yours. I believe that Ertene is suf-
fering because of her seclusion and
that her peoples will advance more
swiftly with commerce between the
planets — and once again in inter-

36

stellar space, Ertene will have no
planets with which to conduct
trade.”

“And Sol, like complex society,
will never miss the recluse. Let the
hermit live in his cave, he is neither
hindering nor helping civilization.”
“Indirectly, the hermit hinders.
He excites curiosity and the wonder
if a hermit’s existence might not be
desirable and thus diverts other
thinkers to seclusion.”

“But if the hermit withdraws
alone and unnoticed, no one will
know of the hermitage, and then no
one will wonder.”

“But / know, and though no one
else in the Solar System knows, I
am trying to bring you into our
society. I have the desire of broth-
erhood, the gregarious instinct that
wants to be friend with all men. It
annoys me — as it annoys all men —
to see one of us alone and unloved
by his fellows. I have a burning
desire to have Ertene as a twin
world with Terra.”

“But Ertene likes her itinerant ex-
istence. The fires that burn beyond
the horizon are interesting. Also,”
smiled Terokar, “the grass is
greener over there.”

“One day you will come to the
end of the block,” said Guy, “and
find that the grass is no greener
anywhere, with the exception that
you now have no more grass to look
at, plus the sorry fact that you can-
not return. A million galactic years
from now, Ertene will have passed
through the galaxy and will find her-
self looking at intergalactic space.
Then what?”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

“Then our children will learn to
live in a starless sky for a hundred
thousand generations. Solarians
live in a sky of constant placement ;
Ertene’s sky is ever changing and
all sky maps are obsolete in thirty
or forty years. You must remem-
ber that to us, wandering is the
normal way of life. Some of us
believe that we may eventually re-
turn to our parent sun. We may.
But all of us believe that we would
find our parent sun no more inter-
esting than others. No Guy, I
doubt that we will stop there either.”
“You are assuming that you will
not remain at Sol?”

“We are a shy planet. We do
not like to change our way of life.
You are asking us to give up our
life and to accept yours. It is sim-
ilar to a man asking a woman to
marry. But a woman is not com-
pletely reversed in her life when
she marries. Here you are asking
us to cleave unto you forever —
and there is no bond of love to soften
the hard spots.”

“I did mention the bond of broth-
erhood,” said Guy.

“Brotherhood with what?” asked *
Terokar. “You ask us to enter a
bond of twinship with a planet that
is the center of strife. You ask
us in the name of similarity to join
you — and help you gain mastery
over the Solar System.”

“And why not?”

“Which of you is right? Is the
Terran combine more righteous than
the Martian alliance?”

“Certainly.”

“Why?”

Guy asked for a moment to think.
The room was silent for a moment
and then he said, slowly and pain-
fully : “I can think of no other rea-
son than the trite and no-answer
reason: ‘We’re right because we’re
right !’ The Martian combine
fights us to gain the land and the
commerce that we have taken be-
cause of superiority in space.”

“A superiority given merely be-
cause of sheer size,” said Baranon.
“The Martians, raised under a grav-
ity of less than one third of Terra’s
find it difficult to keep pace with
the Terrans, who can live under
three times as much acceleration.
Battle under such conditions is un-
fair, and the fact that the Martians
have been able to survive indicates
that their code is not entirely
wrong.”

Charalas nodded. “Any code that
is entirely in error will not be able
to survive.”

“So,” said Terokar, “you ask us
to join your belligerent system. You
ask us to emerge from our pleasure
and join you in a struggle for exist-
ence. You ask that we give up the
peace that has survived for a thou-
sand years, and in doing so you ask
that we come willingly and permit
our cities to be war-scarred and our
men killed. You ask that we join
in battle against a smaller, less
adapted race that still is able to
survive in spite of its ill-adaption to
the rigors of space.”

Guy was silent.

“Is that the way of life? Must
we fight for our life? Strife is
deplorable, Guy Maynard, and I am
saying that to you, who come of a

v o »r a r>

87

planet steeped in strife. You wear
a uniform — or did — that is dedi-
cated to the job of doing a better
job of fighting than the enemy.
Continual warlike, activity has no
place on Ertene.

“Plus one other thing, Guy May-
nard. You are honorable and your
intent is clear. But your fellows
are none too like you. Ertene would
become the playground of the Solar
System. There would be continual
battles over Ertene, and Ertene with
her inexperience in warfare would
be forced to accept the protection
of Terra. That protection would
break down into the same sort of
protection that is offered the Pluto-
nians by a handful of Terrans. In
exchange for ‘protection’ against
enemies that would possibly be no
better or worse, the Plutonians are

88

stripped of their metal. They are
not accorded the privilege of school-
ing because they are too ignorant
to enter even the most elementry of
schools. Besides, schooling would
make them aware of their position
and they might rebel -' against the
system that robs them of their sub-
stance under the name of ‘protec-
tion.’ Protection ? May the High-
est Law protect me from my pro-
tectors!” Terokar's lips curled
slightly. “Am I not correct ? Have
not the Plutonians the right to life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happi-
ness ? It would be a heavy blow to
Terra if the third planet were forced
to pay value for the substance that
comes from Pluto.”

“After all,” said Guy, “if Terra
hadn’t got there first, Mars would
be doing the same thing.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -DICTION

“Granted/' said Baranon. “Ab-
solutely correct. But two wrongs
do not make a right. Terra is no
worse than Mars. But that does
not excuse either of them. They
are both wrong!”

“Are you asking Terra to change
its way of life?” demanded Guy.

“You are asking Ertene to change.
We have the same privilege.”
“Obviously in a system such as
ours a completely altruistic society
would be wiped out.”

“Obviously,” said Baranon.
“Then—”

“Then Ertene will change its way
of life — providing Terra changes
hers.”

“Mars—”

“Mars will have to change hers,
too. Can you not live in harmony ?”
“Knowing what the Martians did
to me — can you expect me to greet
one of them with open arms?”
“Knowing what you have done to
them, I wouldn’t expect either one
of you to change your greetings.
No, Guy, I fear that Ertene will
continue on her path until such a
time as we meet a system that is
less belligerent and more adapted to
our way of life.”

“Then I have failed?”

“Do not feel badly. You have
failed, but you were fighting a huge,
overwhelming force. You fought
the inheritance of a hundred gen-
erations of wanderers. You fought
the will of an integrated people who
deplore strife. You fought the de-
sire of everyone on Ertene, and
since no Ertinian could change Solar
society, we cannot expect a Terran
to change Ertinian ideals. You

failed, but it is no disgrace to fail
against such an overwhelming de-
fense.”

Guy smiled weakly. “I presume
that I was fighting against a deter-
mined front?”

“You were trying to do the most
difficult job of all. In order to
have succeeded, you would first
have had to unsell us on our firm
convictions, and then sell us the
desirability of yours. A double job,
both uphill.”

“Then I am to consider the mat-
ter closed?”

“Yes. We have decided not to
remain.”

“You decided that before I came
in,” said Guy bitterly.

“We decided that a thousand
years before you were born, so do
not feel bitter.”

“I presume that a change in your
plans is out of the question even
though further information on Sol’s
planets proves you wrong?”

“It will never be brought up
again.”

“I see,” said Guy unhappily.
“Part of my desire to convince you
was the hope of seeing my home
again.”

“Oh, but you will,” said Chara-
las.

Guy was dumfounded. He could
hardly believe his ears. He asked
for a repeat, and got it. It was
still amazing. To Guy. it was out-
right foolishness. He wouldn’t
have trusted anyone with such a
secret. To permit him to return to
Terra with the knowledge he had —

“Charalas, what would prevent

NOMAD

89

me from bringing my people to Er-
tene? I could bring the forces of
Terra down about your very ears.”

“But you will not. We have a
strict, value-even trade to offer
you.”

“But it would be so easy to keep,
me here.”

“We could not restrain you with-
out force. And if we must rely
upon your honor, we’d be equally
reliant whether you be here or on
Terra.”

“Here,” said Guy dryly, “I’d be
away from temptation. If I were
tempted to tell, there’d be no one
to tell it to.”

“We must comply with an ancient
rule,” explained Terokar. “It says
specifically that no man without
Ertinian blood may remain on Er-
tene. It was made to keep the race
pure when we were still about our
parent sun and has never been re-
voked. We wouldn't revoke it for
you alone.”

“But permitting me to go free
would be sheer madness.”

“Not quite. We are mutually in-
debted to one another, Guy. There
is the matter of knowledge. You
gave freely of yours, we gave you
ours. We have gained some points
that were missing in our science,
you have a number of points that
will make you rich, famous, and re-
membered. Use them as your own,
only do it logically in order that
they seem to be discoveries of your
own. You admit the worth of
them ?”

“Oh, but yes,” said Guy eagerly.
“Wonderful—”

“Then there is no debt for knowl-
edge ?”

"If any, I am in your debt.”
“We’ll call it even,” said Bara-
non, dryly.

“Then there is the matter of
life,” said Terokar. “You know
how you were found?”

Guy shook his head in wonder.
“I had been through the Martian
idea of how to get information out
of a reluctant man,” he said slowly.
“I know that their methods result
in a terrible mindless state which to
my own belief is worse than death
itself. I know that as I lost con-
sciousness, I prayed for death to
come, even though I knew that they
would not permit it.”

“We found you that way. You
know. And we brought you back
to life. You owe us that.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Then for your life, we demand
our life in return.”

“I do not understand.”

“Your life is yours. We ask that
you say nothing of us — for we feel
that we will die if we are found.
At least, the integrity of Ertene is
at stake. In any event, we will not
be taken, you may as well know
that. And when I say die, I mean
that Ertene will not go on living in
the way we want her to live. There-
fore you will disclose nothing that
will point our way to anyone.”
“And you are willing that 1
should return to Terra with such an
oath ? What of my oath to Terra ?”
“Do you feel that your presence
on Ertene will benefit Terra in
some small way?” asked Charalas.
“Now that you have given me

40

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

the things we spoke of before, I

do."

“Then,” said Charalas, “consider
this point. You may not return un-
less you swear to keep us secret.
You may not give Terra the bene-
fit of your knowledge unless you
deprive them of Ertene. Is that
clear ?”

“If I may not return to Terra,
and may not remain on Ertene, I
can guess the other alternative and
will admit that I do not like it. On
the returning angle, about all I can
do is to justify myself in my own
mind that I have done all that I can
by bringing these scientific items
back with me. Since doing the best
I can for Terra includes keeping
your secret, I can do that also.
But tell me, how do you hope to
cover the fact that I’ve been miss-
ing for almost a year? That will
take more than mere explanation.”

“The process is easy,” said
Charalas. “We have one of the
lifeships from the derelict. It was
slightly damaged in the blast. It is
maneuverable, but unwieldy. Evi-
dence has been painstakingly
forged. Apparently you will have
broken your straps under the shock
of the blast — and before the torture
reached its height — and you found
yourself in a derelict with no one
left alive but yourself. You were
hurt, mentally, and didn’t grasp the
situation clearly. There was no
way to signal your plight in secrecy,
and open signaling would have been
dangerous since you were too close
to Mars.

“You found the lifeship and

waited until you could safely take
off. The derelict took a crazy
course, according to the recorded
log in your own handwriting, and
headed for interstellar space. You
took off at the safe time and have
been floating free in the damaged
lifeship. You’ve been on a free
orbit for the best part of a year.”
“Sounds convincing enough.”
“The evidence includes empty air
cans, your own fingerprints on
everything imaginable, a dulled can
opener and the remnants of can
labels that have fallen into nooks
and crannies of the ship. The
water-recovery device has been un-
der constant operation and examin-
ation will show about a year’s ac-
cumulation of residual matter. A
scratch-mark calendar has been kept
on the wall of the lifeship, and daily
it has been added to. That is im-
portant since the wall will show
more oxidation in the scratches
made a year ago than the ones made
recently. The accumulators of the
ship have been run down as if in
service while you were forcing the
little ship into its orbit, and the de-
mand recorder shows how the drain
was used. The lights in the
ship have been burned, and the de-
posits of fluorescent material in the
tubes have been used about the cal-
culated number of hours. Books
have been nearly worn out from re-
reading and they were used with
fingerprint gloves though they were
studied by us. Instruments and
gadgets are strewn about the ship in
profusion, indicating the attempts
of an intelligent man trying to kill
time. Also you will find the initial

NOMAD

41

findings on the energy collector vve
used in conjunction with the light-
shield.

“Now, yourself. Into your body
we will inject the hormones that
occur with fear and worry. You
will not enjoy a bit of atmosphobia,
but believe us, it is necessary. You
will have the appearance and atti-
tude of a man who has been in space
alone for a year, and luckily for
you, you are a spaceman and inured
to the rigors of space travel so that
it will not be necessary to really give
you the works in order to make you
seem natural.

“As a final touch, both for our
safety and yours, we will inject in
your body a substance far superior
to your anti-lamine. This is not
destroyed by electrolysis, but only
by a substance made from the orig-
inal base. This will protect you
against any attempt to make you
talk. As long as it is your will, con-
sciously or subconsciously, our se-
cret will be kept. Is there anything
we may have overlooked?”

“One thing. The space tan.”

“That you will get before you
leave.”

“Then that sounds like the
works.”

“It is. Guy Maynard, we wish
you the best of luck. We are all
sorry that you must leave, but it is
best that way. Sooner or later you
would become homesick for the
things you knew on Terra. Ertene
will not last in your memory, we
have been careful not to let you in-
dulge in anything that will leave
memories either pleasant or un-
pleasant, and forgetting is easy

42

when the subject was uneventful.
Farewell, Guy Maynard.”

“Good-bye. And if you ever de-
cide whether your way is at all
questionable, have someone look me
up. I’ll be around Sol.”

Terokan laughed. “And if you
find that Sol changes her way of
living, you may see if you can find
us!”

Charalas smiled : “No need.

They will not. This is farewell for-
ever, Guy. Good luck.”

It was little more than an hour
later that Guy Maynard, inoculated
with all kinds of shots, was lifted
into the sky in a heavy spaceship
and on the way for a predetermined
section of the Solar sky.

They left him, a couple of weeks
later.

And Guy Maynard was headed
for Terra in a broken lifeship saved
from the derelict of the Mardinex.
He thought of Ertene briefly, and
then put the thought from him. He
would never see Ertene again.

But the things he had in his mind
would make Ertene’s influence ever-
lasting over an unknown Terra.
That alone made the contact worth
while.

Guy Maynard stumbled upon an-
other thought. He had accused
them of going on forever like an
itinerant, taking nothing and giving
nothing and living sterile as far as
their good toward civilization. He
was wrong, and now he knew it.
Ertene did not go on her lonely
path. She had strewn the fruits of
experience in Sol’s path as best she
could and still maintain safety for

•ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

herself. It was reasonable to sup-
pose that Ertene had done the same
things for those other systems.

Hers was not a useless existence.
Ertene was doing as much for civ-
ilization as Terra, surely.

And though he would never see
Ertene again, his own personal gain
from having been to Ertene would
cause him to remember the wan-
derer. And even though Terra
would never know of Ertene’s ex-
istence, she would benefit from their
experience.

Ertene — completely altruistic.

Or was she completely selfish?

Terra would never know.

V.

Ben Williamson sat bolt upright
in his chair and listened to the faint
piping whistle that came through
the communicator along with the
sounds from the communications
office. Te snapped the button call-
ing for silence in order to hear bet-
ter, and then scratched his head in
wonder.

“Executive to Communications
and Pilot: Tune in that signal bet-
ter and get a fix on it. Prepare to
follow the fix.”

“Received,” came the laconic re-
ply, and then the less formal :
“What’s in the sky, Ben ?”

“Whether you know it or not,
that signal was Guy Maynard’s pri-
vate sign.”

“I thought so,” said the com-
munications officer. “I wasn’t cer-
tain.”

“We’ll not court-martial you for
that,” laughed Ben. “After all, you

didn’t know Maynard personally.”
“Right. I didn’t know him at all.
But this fix — I’ve got it.”

“Can you get range and possible
track ?”

“Fairly well.” There was silence
for several minutes and then the
communications officer announced
the figures concerning the distance
and probable course constants of the
emitting source.

“Executive to Technician: Jim-
my, have you got the cards on the
Mardinex or did we put them in
the morgue after we slipped her the
slug ?”

“Still got ’em. BuSI thought we
should keep ’em a bit just in case.
After all, the Mardinex was a secret
proposition and to remove her cards
from the Terran cardexes would be
like the guy in that story.”

“Which guy in what story.”

“The fellow who suspected his
neighbor of stealing his chickens
just because he found the neighbor
garbaging chicken feathers and
chicken carcasses. They’ve made
no announcement of the Mardinex' s
failure to return. To have Terra
toss away the information that we
have so painstakingly gathered con-
cerning her most intimate features
would be almost an open admission
that Terra is not longer concerned
about the Mardinex.”

“They couldn’t prove a thing.”
“No, but as the Chinese say: ‘A
wise man does not stoop to secure
his shoes in a melon patch nor
adjust his hat under a cherry tree.’
They could trump up enough evi-
dence to arouse their people if they
could prove our disinterest in some

43

NOM AT>

concrete manner. As it is, the whole
system knows that Terra still carries
the cards of the Mardine x. That’s
the one thing they’ve ascertained.
We’ve got ’em all right.”

“Good. Then as soon as we get
close enough to that source, and the
spotters take hold, run the constants
through the cardex.”

“Good Sol, Ben. What do you
expect ?”

“Dunno. Couldn’t be the Mar-
dinex, of course. That couldn’t
possibly be here and now. But —
that was Maynard’s sign and he may
have survived in some queer man-
ner. We know that the Mardine x
carried lifeships.”

Time passed as the destroyer ac-
celerated constantly, reached turn-
over, and began to decelerate toward
the suspected position of the signal-
emitting object. Just after turn-
over the spotters took hold and an-
nounced that the object was capable
of being scanned and analyzed.

The whirr of the file as the cardex
ran through the thousands of mi-
nute cards filled the technician’s
office and came through the open
communicator. Then the attention
bell tingled once, and the card that
matched the constants of the emit-
ting object was slid from the file
into a projector. The micro-printing
above the cardex pattern was pro-
jected on the ground glass above the
instrument and the technician read
it off in a flat voice.

“Fore lifeship — standard type
from Martian space craft of the
Mardinex class. One of six similar
models placed in the upper quadrant

of the ship. These ships are capa-
ble of four gravities, Terran, and
are capable of making, the one hun-
dred million mile trip. No arma-
ment as per agreements under the
Eros Conference. Will accommo-
date thirty passengers for a period
of ninety days, Terran without dis-
comfort other than atniosphobia and
the possibility of avoirduphobia if
the distance demands free flight for
any period of time. Equipped with
spotter equipment and signaling
equipment capable of reaching in-
terested searchers but not raising
those whose equipment is nondirec-
tive or whose directive equipment
is pointed away from the emitting*
source. Also equipped with com-
plete spares for signaling equip-
ment— ”

“That’s enough,” said Ben. “Ex-
ecutive to Turretman: Trim your
autoMacs and load the torpedo
tubes. “This may be a trap.”

“Right,” said Tim. “And ac-
cording to Jimmy, they may be try-
ing to see how we react after a sign
of the Mardinex’ s lifeship pattern.
They’re capable of duplicating that
pattern, you know.”

“We’re going in there to win or
lose,” said Ben soberly. “No matter
how they take it, we’re ready. Tim,
put a remote arming fuse in one
torp and launch it right now. If
this is trouble, we’ll butter our
chances. If this is not trouble, we’ll
keep the arming signal running and
retrieve the torpedo. Right?”

“Received. Want it set to remain
inert as long as the arming signal
is on?”

“That’s the order.”

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The destroyer bucked slightly and
Tim said: “She’s off. Any time
anybody thinks we should let her
roar, poke the arming button on the
panels.”

Instinctively, Ben Williamson
glanced at the minute pilot light that
gleamed faintly just above a button
on the ordnance panel. It was the
left-most button of a row of twenty.
By reaching out of his chair with
the right hand and leaning back so
that his spine was arched deeply,
Williamson could touch the arming
control. He nodded, and as he
watched, the panel below winked
on, indicating that the turret was
ready for action. Beside it, the
winking lights indicated that his
orders to load up the torpedo tubes
had been conveyed to the tube crew.
A string of varicolored lights indi-
cated a series of interferers and
space bombs that were being armed
in the bomb bay. Williamson smiled.
Tim Monahan was an excellent ord-
nance officer ; one who rode the
turret himself and directed the fire
controls from there.

“Executive to Pilot: What’s our
position?”

“Twenty minutes from object.”

“Ring the Action Alarm. Who
knows — we may see action 1”

“Turretman to Executive: Object
sighted. Definitely a lifeship.
Doesn’t look dangerous. Shall we
take a chance ?”

“Executive to Communications :
Answer ’em on their band.”

“Received. Ben, they went off
the air as soon as I opened my
transmitter.” There was some pe-
riod of silence. “Communications

to Executive: Identifies himself as
Guy Maynard. Says alone and safe.
Cut emitter to prevent curiosity on
the part of Martian observers who
may be listening.”

“Good fellow. He should be an
Intelligence Officer. Tell him to
prepare for transshipping.”

“He says that after a year in that
sardine can, it can’t be too quick.
Want him to jump?”

“Can he put on any speed ?”

“His suit is still in partial opera-
tion. He can rev up about a G.”
“Tell him to dive. We’ll scoop
him without trying to match speed.”

Guy smiled vaguely. He made
one 'last prayer that he could look
as starved for company as a man
would after a year in that tiny ship.
He didn’t stop to wonder why
they’d asked him to dive. He merely
prayed that his story would be acted
as convincingly as his forged diary
read. He’d partially committed that
to memory ; certain lapses would be
expected. It was good and it con-
tained several references to ideas
for equipment which would help
explain his sudden inventive streak.
He hugged the volume to him and
dived out of the open space lock.
Once free of the ship, Guy turned
the tiny driving fin on and he stood
upright on the soles of the spacesuit
shoes.

And minutes later the destroyer
arrowed silently past and a silent,
invisible tractor reached out and
caught him in the focal area. It
stretched like a thin elastomer cord,
invisible, and it accelerated him
gently as the destroyed sped on. He

45

NOMAD

caught up with the destroyer and
was taken aboard just as the sound-
less gout of flame far below marked
the end of the lifeship.

“Why ?” he asked patiently,
shortly and tersely.

"Didn’t care to leave any evidence
for the Marties.”

“Sort of got attached to it,” said
Guy.

“Could be, but one sight of that
anywhere in the Solar System
would mean trouble. Evidence from
the Mardinex, you know. Forget it,
Maynard. You’re far more impor-
tant. What happened, and how,
and why?”

Maynard looked pained.

“Forget it, Guy. Obviously you
had a tough time. Take your time
about telling us. What do you want
most ?”

Guy smiled shyly. “I thought
about that a lot,” he said slowly.
“I wanted steak and potatoes. I
wanted cigarettes. I even thought
of Laura Greggor. I wanted . . .
Ben, I want everthing, and in mass-
production lots.”

“Steak and potatoes we can give
you. Cigarettes we have in plenty.
A shower and a shave and a soft,
well-made man-sized bed. Books
and pictures and a dollop of liquor,
too. Candy, cigars, chewing gum,
et cetera. But the only female we
have on board is cooky’s pet hen.
Like a fresh egg?”

“Anything as long as it is not
lonely,” said Guy. “My throat is
slightly lame.”

“I can imagine. Well, it’s sick
bay for you and we’ll wait on you.
And — Guy, there’ll be plenty of

■a#

company.” Ben snapped the gen-
eral communicator button and said :
“Executive to crew : Junior Execu-
tive Guy Maynard is aboard. He is
to be shown every consideration,
and it is directed that each watch
appoint three roving spacemen
whose duties will be to replace crew
members who will visit Maynard.
His stay in sick bay is not quaran-
tine.”

"Williamson, I’ll take that shower
now. And then the steak. Got a
cigarette ?”

As Maynard ignited the cigarette,
he thought : Carefully prepared evi-
dence ! How painstaking they were 1
Even the scratches on the wall made
so that the earlier ones would be
made first. The millions of finger-
prints. And destroyed because it
would be bad evidence against us.
Ironic. And yet — they might have
missed something. And supposing
Williamson hadn’t armed that tor-
pedo but had taken the crate in to
Terra instead? Then Ertene’s evi-
dence would have been needed. We
couldn’t have known —

“Now for that shower,” he said
to Ben. There was no use in de-
liberately thinking of Ertene now.
Forget it. To Ben he added:
“Might run through that log of
mine. Gives you the story pretty
well, and my voice-box is still un-
used to talking much. I’m going,
but I’ll be back.”

“Good thing you kept a log,” said
Ben. “It’ll be most valuable evi-
dence for the investigation.”

Investigation ! Guy hadn’t thought
of that factor. Naturally he must
give his evidence before a court-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

martial, though he would by no
means be on trial. Yet, they were
thorough and he prayed that he
wouldn’t make the most unnoticed
slip. They’d ply him with questions
and watch his answers. He was
glad that he hadn’t memorized the
log by rote. To repeat word for
word certain parts would be ex-
pected, and to miss completely other
parts would be expected. There
would even be parts he had for-
gotten and parts too doleful for the
mind to keep fresh.

Then Guy Maynard put it all
aside. He forgot his troubles and
his worries, and gave himself up to
the luxuries of civilization once
more. His act was most convinc-
ing. He ate with relish and smoked
until his throat was sore. He was
reticent at the right time, and he
made it appear as though it had be-
come habit with him to remain si-
lent; and also brought out the fact
that his larynx was slightly unused
to exercise. He was glad to be
home, though he deplored the de-
struction of his lifeship — he spoke
of it affectionately sometimesr other
times he outwardly hated the
thought of it — because there were
some experiments uncompleted on
it. They could be duplicated from
the log, of course, but the originals
were priceless in his estimation —

And then the reaction really set
in. Guy Maynard was home again.
Home, to Guy, was the ever-chang-
ing orientation of the starry sky and
the never constant gravity. He fin-
gered the ordnance controls on the
destroyer with affection and real-

ized that Ertcne was long ago and
far away, and that his place was
here, and that his life was geared to
the quick life of a spaceman in the
Terran Space Patrol.

Peace was wonderful, of course,
and at the time he wanted it des-
perately. But now he realized that
the excitement of living in a system
of planets offered more than the
placid existence of Ertene with its
one moon and the occasional space
trip.

In spite of the treaties and ac-
ceptance of peaceful measures made
on the part of the Martians, there
was always the chance that some un-
derhanded move might be made.
There was that edge to life; that
fine, razor-sharp edge of excitement
and danger. Mars might make un-
toward moves, but it was not all
Mars’ party. Terra made her own
espionage and operations tended to
display her might to the Red Planet.
Brushes that never reached notice
were always going on.

He permitted himself to wax en-
thusiastic over his being home
again. They never knew that it was
not merely the release from space
loneliness but a return from a too
long, too uneventful vacation.

He considered himself objectively
one day after he found himself look-
ing forward to the return to Terra.
The investigation did not bother
him ; it was the question of whether
his year of absence from the service
would cause him a year’s loss in ad-
vancement. If it caused him no
loss, he would become a Senior Ex-
ecutive within a month or so after
his return. That would give him

NOMAI)

4T

the right to captain a destroyer like
this one.

His interest and anxiousness to
return to Terra had become honest.
On Ertene he had argued against it.
Now he knew his mind and also
knew that Charalas had done the
proper thing. He would not have
remained on Ertene. Some day the
everlasting peace and quiet would
get him, and then there would have
been trouble.

He owed them his life, and if
some of the things in his log worked
to his own satisfaction, he owed
them more than that. He’d keep
their secret ; denying Terra the right
to exploit Ertene was hard, but bet-
ter deny them that than to deny
them the knowledge he had gained.
Terra would hold dominance over
the Solar System without Ertene’s
presence ; though it was not without
Ertene’s help.

Poor Ertene. A sterile, placid
life that was beginning to look pale
and uninteresting against the
rugged, boisterous existence of men
who roamed the Solar System.

Let them have their stability.
What was their history? A few
thousand years since the dawn of
their written lore ? Far greater
than Sol’s though he had been loath
to tell them that. At that time such
an admission was like admitting that
one was but an adolescent. But it
was true. But in those thousands
of years, had their science come a
comparable distance with Terra’s?

And Guy knew why. With noth-
ing to strive against, progress ceases.

He wondered whether the in-
vestigating committee would make

48

an issue of the fact that a junior
executive had been so oblivious to
his duty as to permit capture by
Martians. That was the only fly in
liis ointment, the only point over
which he worried. He felt that his
capture could have happened to any-
one,. and secretly he admired the
bold stroke in the light of how dar-
ing it had been for Mars to storm
the very ramparts of Sahara Base.

But investigating committees are
strange things and their decisions
are often based on theory instead of
action with no regard to circum-
stances.

That one minor point continued
to worry him at times.

And then the destroyer dropped
out of the sky onto Sahara Base,
and Guy Maynard stooped to pick
up a handful of the soil of Terra.
He shook it in the sky and rubbed
it into his hands. He smelled of it
and exhaled deeply. Then, still
holding a bit of it, he faced the
sector commander who was waiting
for him in the command car.

The commander smiled curtly and
said: “Junior Executive Maynard,
you are to speak to no one. You are
technically not under arrest, nor are
you to be placed in that light. How-
ever a violation of the order to dis-
cuss nothing with anyone will lead
to arrest.”

“How long is this quarantine go-
ing to last, sir ?”

“Not too long. The Board of
Investigation will convene tomor-
row. At that time we will decide
your future.”

Maynard entered the command

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

car and they drove off silently. He
was thinking: One more hurdle. If
I can make it —

His dreams were troubled that
night. There was nothing definite
about them ; they were kaleidoscopic
in nature and Charalas whirled in
and out of them along with Greggor
of the Bureau of Exploration and
Laura Greggor. In these dreams he
was the central figure; a pitiful, un-
armed being that could not strike
back against the pointed questions
that they hurled at him. He was
mired in a black mess of intrigue
that would follow him forever. And
only by living in constant guarded-
ness would he be safe.

For once the hurdle of the in-
vestigation was passed, there would
be no recanting.

God help him if after he perjured
himself they found out that his tale
had been designed to cover a definite
breach of his own oath.

It was the price he would pay for
the success that Ertene’s science
would bring him.

Yet he knew that if he continued
as he had started, he would be all
right. To be convincing in a lie,
he knew that the first problem was
to convince himself.

And so Guy Maynard went into
the Board of Investigation almost
self-convinced that his year of lone-
liness was a fact.

He didn’t dare consider the fu-
ture if he failed to convince the
Board. Not only for himself, but
for Ertene and Terra both. They
— he dropped the awful possibility
there. He stiffened his resolve and
thrust the thought from his mind.'
There must be no slip.

So with a part of his mind fight-
ing to keep from viewing utter
chaos, and another pan of his mind
telling him that he was hiding his
head in the sand like an ostrich, Guy

NOMAD

<0

Maynard entered the large room
with the silent, waiting men.

He swallowed deeply as he noted
the weight of the platinum braid and
he took his appointed position with
a qualm of misgiving.

VI.

Guy Maynard’s eyes swept about
the room and saw eyes that were
quiet, and if they were not openly
friendly, at least they were neither
hostile nor doubtful. The Board
of Investigation was composed of
several high officers and a civilian.
He glanced at the neat pile of papers
that were placed on the table before
his appointed position and glanced
through the names of those present,
wondering about the civilian; most
of the officers he knew by sight.

He nodded to himself ; the civilian
was Thomas Kane, a news pub-
lisher, and therefore quite natural a
presence in this investigation. The
fact that he was the publisher him-
self, and not one of his hirelings
gave the investigation the air of ex-
treme secrecy, and Guy understood
that whatever went on in this gath-
ering today would be held in the
utmost confidence until the necessi-
i ties of living made the publicity of
' the conference desirable — if ever.
The public would accept the word
of the publisher with more credulity
than they would a prepared state-
ment issued for common consump-
tion by a propaganda department.

People had become used to nor-
mal propaganda, and were capable
of picking it out and disregarding it.
A publisher’s own statements were

so

considered to be noncontrollable
since the only recourse that any
Patrol investigation could take was
to bar the publisher from their sub-
sequent conferences, and to combat
that the publisher could make things
literally warm for any body of
Patrol officers who tried to muzzle
him.

The chairman, Patrol Marshal
Alfred Mantley, rapped for order,
and started the proceedings by tell-
ing Guy: "We have been in order
for three hours, during which time
we have considered the evidence
presented by the log of your . . .
er . . . journey. Also, the log has
been read and digested by profes-
sional readers and pronounced au-
thentic. The latter is not so much
in defense of you, Maynard, as it is
to assure us that you have not been
or are not now acting under duress.
You present us quite a problem,
young sir. Quite a problem. Coldly
and cruelly, we would find our lives
less complicated if you hadn’t re-
turned,” he said with a laugh. "But
you are here and we are glad to
have you returned. You have had
quite an experience — one that is
seldom enjoyed and only recorded
a few times in the annals of the
Terran Space Patrol. How are you
feeling ?”

“Quite all right.”

“Fine. Now, Guy, tell us in your
own words a brief account of your
travels.”

Guy got as far as the encounter
with the Martian when he was in-
terrupted by Patrol Marshal Jones.
“How do you account for the fact
that a Martian was able to penetrate

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

to the very heart of Sahara Base?”

“I have no idea, sir. I, like the
rest of us, have been led to believe
that our security in the Base was
perfect. Naturally I was not
armed.”

“No,” said the chairman. "And
had you been armed, I doubt that
the encounter would have been dif-
ferent. Fighting unarmed against
a Martian who is holding a Mac-
Millan at the ready is not considered
the kind of thing that any intelligent
man would attempt. The fault lies
with the security office, not with
you.”

His chief, Greggor of the Bureau
of Exploration asked: “Is this an
official decision? I want it made
clear that my assistant is not re-
sponsible for his trouble.”

“Maynard is not to be held re-
sponsible. When the word came
via Senior Executive Williamson,
the investigation of the kidnaping
act disclosed that the blame — if any
— was to lie with Security. Off the
record, 1 can not see how any se-
curity bureau could cope with such
boldness. It was born of despera-
tion and bred of terror — and it died
for lack of sheer weight and veloc-
ity.”

“Thank you,” said Space Marshal
Greggor.

Guy went on, telling his partly-
memorized tale, until he was again
questioned.

“You hadn’t felt the brunt of the
electrolysis before the Mardinex
was attacked?”

“It had just started. The final
explosion broke my straps and de-

stroyed the electrolysis equipment.”
“And you couldn’t make your
way to a lifeship at that time?”

“I did as soon as I came to, and
realized that I was alone. The
least damaged lifeship required re-
pairs that were completed several
hours later. By that time we were
passing through the midst of Mar-
tian territory and I thought it best
to lie low.”

“You preferred to take the chance
of orbiting rather than running the
Martian gauntlet?”

“Orbiting was no chance, sir.
Running the gauntlet would have
been sheer suicide since the Mar-
tians were extremely interested in
the Mardinex. They had most of
their grand fleet out watching.
Only my velocity — which prevented
any attempt to stop me — and my ac-
celeration— which prevented any
attempt to try to match my speed —
got me past safely. I am certain
that they put a pointer on me as we
went past.”

“By what reasoning?”

“I would have done it, sir, if the
cases had been reversed.”

“Naturally,” said the chairman.
“Proceed, Maynard.”

“Knowing that any deviation of
the Mardinex or electrical activity
aboard would register at the Mar-
tian detector stations, at least until
we were out of safe range, I pro-
ceeded to make the lifeship as
spaceworthy and as comfortable as
I could. I took plenty of spare
equipment — ”

“Of what sort?”

“Sheer gadgetry, sir. I’ve had a
few ideas, and this looked as though

NOMAD

si

I’d have plenty of time to try them
out. I powered the lifeship far be-
yond her normal power because I
had to get back home from a ship
leaving the System at better than
ten. thousand miles per second.”

‘‘In order to bring out the re-
sourcefulness of my assistant,” said
Greggor, “I want the record to state
that he prepared for the boredom
he knew would come.”

“It is recorded.”

“Then, as soon as we were be-
yond the longest possible range of
the most powerful detector-analyz-
ers, even when aimed by a pointer,
and taking into consideration that
Mars might have had an observer
out about even with the orbit of
Pluto, I emerged from the derelict
and began to decelerate.”

“Good.”

“Well, that’s about all,” he said.
He felt that this was it. He was
worried that the deeper discussion
might bring forth errors and con-
tradictions, and he wanted them to
lead him into the initial disclosures
rather than to have them add to a
statement that might be straining at
the truth already. “I slept. I
worked. I did about everything a
man can do when he’s sitting in a
lifeship for a solid year waiting for
his home planet to come close
enough to signal to. This is the
hard part. Nothing of any impor-
tance happened. One hour was like
the rest. I slept when I got tired
and worked until I tired of it. I ate
when hungry. I shaved when my
beard got uncomfortable. I prob-
ably have attained a number of bad
habits during my enforced hermit-

OJ

ing, but they will be easily broken.’”
“Your record is quite clear,” said
Chairman Mantley. “Is it the
agreement of this investigation that
Guy Maynard’s story be accepted ?”
“I see no reason why it should be
disputed.”

“What purpose would Maynard
have in lying?”

“It is truthful enough for me.”
“I’m in accord.”

“Let’s drop this foolishness,” said
Kane, the publisher. “What is far
more important is the public expla-
nation for Maynard’s absence.”
“Our friend of the Fourth Estate
is correct,” said Mantley. “The log
is accepted, and will be maintained
in the archives under secret classifi-
cation.” He smiled at Maynard.
“Now, young man, you force us
into developing a year-long cock-
and-bull story for the public.”

“Sir? I don’t understand.”

“If you breathe a word of that
story to anyone else, you’ll be the
direct reason for an Interplanetary
War— with capital letters.”

“But—”

“So it’s the truth. You’ll learn,
young man, that there are times
when the truth is not always the
best. You are all right, alive and
vc ell — to say nothing of being
equipped with a few brilliant ideas
for your trouble. Your captors are
dead and gone. Mars doesn’t really
know what happened to their Mar -
dinex, and Terra doesn’t really know
anything about the incident. You
can’t be court-martialed for being
Absent Without Leave for we need
you and your ideas. You haven’t

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

been spaeewrecked, for no ship is
missing.”

“How was my absence ex-
plained ?” asked Guy.

"You were M-12.”

“Oh ?” said Guy.

“Then it’s easy,” said Greggor.
“Has his first contact been reported
yet ?”

“No. I see your point. Cer-
tainly. Funny, it never has hap-
pened this way before and now that
it did, I forgot the reality.”

“As an M-12 case, he can make
the one-year mention in his own
right. It will also tend to authenti-
cate other M-12 cases which must
be false. Then after the third year
— if he hasn’t been returned to full
duty already — he can make the
third-year mention. But instead of
decreasing the mention, Guy will
increase it.”

“Providing it is necessary. After
all, we are not trying to establish a
fade-out for a man killed in an inci-
dent that might lead to total war.
This time the man has returned.”

“How can we strengthen this
contact ?”

■ Kane spoke up cheerfully. “From
the stuff in his log, I’d say that the
best way would be to promote him a
rank for service above and beyond
the requirements of his present
rank. It will also permit him to
skipper a destroyer or lighter craft
which was denied him by the Junior
Executive’s rank. I’ll plant his pic-
ture in my news sheet with a vague
reference to the fact that Guy
Maynard has been engaged in ex-
periments at a secret place and that
his initial experiments have been so

successful that he is being given the
command of a small laboratory ship
in order that the experiments may
be tested in the prime medium.”
“And then?”

“Marshal, there is nothing that
sounds like truth than a lie liberally
sprinkled with truth. In fact, I’d
say the latter sounded even better
than truth.”

“Truth? Is there any in this
story ?”

“Maynard,” asked Kane, “you
said that some of these things were
partially assembled and tested in
that lifeship?”

“Yes. It is deplorable that they
were completely destroyed.”

“Not too deplorable,” said Mar-
shal Warsaw wryly. “After all, the
evidence was pretty bald-faced.”
“Well, his story about working in
a secret laboratory is not too untrue,
is it? What could have been more
secret than his position ? Gentle-
men, no one but he knew where he
was ! And some of the experiments
were eminently successful, were
they not?”

“I believe so.”

“Then his statements warrant the
trust of this assemblage. What do
you say, gentlemen?”

“Sounds reasonable,” said the
chairman. “Any dissent?”

There was none.

“Furthermore,” said Kane, “I’d
suggest that you have professional
writers copy his log and convert it
into a day-by-day account of bis ex-
periments. Use it as close to the real
thing as possible so that he won’t
have to memorize too much. Then
destroy this original.”

53

NOM AD

“Excellent,” said Patrol Marshal
Mantley. “Maynard, you may think
this cold-blooded. No doubt you
want revenge. I’d want it, I know.
But we’re all satisfied, here. You
are hack, and the Martians lost their
battlecraft.”

“It does sound brutal,” said
Maynard, “vknd very depressing.
But I do suppose that one man’s loss
against the loss of a heavy space
craft and a partial crew can not be
argued. I’ll accept it.”

“Then,” said Mantley, “this
Board of Investigation is closed and
the recommendations will be fol-
lowed. Maynard, your rank will be
increased immediately, and until we
can commission a small laboratory
ship for you, you are released from
active duty. You will remain in
touch with this office, for you will
be needed from time to time to sign
papers and to requisition the mate-
rials you will require to complete
your experiments. As soon as our
writers have been able to copy your
original log, the Bureau of Science
will check it over and decide which
of your experiments will be com-
pleted.”

“Will I be able to work on the
rest of them, sir?”

“That depends. You will prob-
ably be called upon for consultation
since you developed them. But we
cannot overlook the urgency of
some of these.”

Space Marshal Greggor came
over to Guy and placed an arm over
the young man’s shoulders. “That
was quite an experience, Guy. Far
beyond the experiences of most

r.l

men. I am sorry for myself, and
happy for you. You’ll be coming
to the house?”

“As soon as I can get settled, sir.
Possibly tonight.”

“Excellent. I’ll prepare Marian
and Laura — they think you’re a real
M-12.”

“Will it be a shock?”

“Somewhat. They aren’t too cer-
tain of the M-12 business; though
they do not know the blunt truth,
they are aware that few men classi-
fied under the M-12 are ever heard
of again. That’s because they’re
close to the Service. M-12 is a bril-
liant method of permitting a man to
drop from sight, since it was de-
signed to permit a man to leave his
friends gently — the so-called con-
tacts are made by telegram and per-
sonal messenger to remove certain
portions of the man’s effects and to
pay his rent and so on. Eventually
all of his stuff is gone, his friends
wonder where he is and eventually
forget him,

“But your return will put faith in
M-12 a gam. They’ll both be glad
to see you.”

“You must do me a favor,” asked
Guy earnestly. “Please explain to
Laura about my leaving without
saying good-bye.”

“I’ll do that. M-12 is the roughest
on the ones who are close without
being blood relations. We’ll smooth
it over. Now take it easy. Hello,
Kane,” he said looking over Guy’s
head. “Are you sorry we deprived
you of a story?”

“Some day this young man will
make me a better one,” laughed
Kane. “Drop up to the office to-

ASTOUNDINC, SCIENCE -FICTION

morrow if you can. I’ll buy lunch
— you deserve some special treat-
ment to pay for your year of —
experimenting. He’ll be -safe,” said
Kane to Greggor.

“I know it,” said the Space Mar-
shal. ‘‘You wouldn’t be permitted
the inside Council unless you were
proven, you know.”

“I’ll do more,” said Kane. “I’ll
halve one of my boys run over the
forged log for you. He can make
it sound a bit more authentic. I’ve
always thought that your logs and
diaries were a little stiffish. A bit
of yearning and youthful hope
would lend that log a world of real-
ity, it having been written by a
lonely young scientist.”

“That’s a deal. Well, take it easy.
And we’ll see you later.”

Guy Maynard arrived to find his
room in order as according to the
treatment given M-12 cases. He
walked around the room and in-
spected everything there, finally
dropping into the easy-chair to
think. It struck him, then. For a
moment he was thoughtful, and
then the humor of the situation hit

him like a blow.

For Ertene had prepared a world
of painstaking evidence to support
his tale of suffering and trouble.
They gave him every bit.

And for their trouble on the life-
ship, it had been destroyed without
inspection because of Terran fear
of discovery. Not that Terra was
concerned about reprisals, but just
because Terran ideas of exchange
dictated that they should let a mat-
ter drop after they had received the
better of the argument.

And then his story. Had he
memorized that log day for day and
word for word, it would have been
of no use. He was ordered to for-
get it in every detail save those
“ideas” he was supposed to have
had.

How neatly had the Terrans de-
stroyed every mite of Ertinian evi-
dence.

All expect the scientific side.

And Ertene would roam on
through the Galaxy in utter silence,
having scattered the seeds of ad-
vancement upon fertile ground.

Ertene’s life was not in vain.

TO BE CONTINUED.

NOMAD

SB

Tricky

Tonnage

by MALCOLM JAMESON

Tricky indeed. A very neat system of cheap transpor-
tation it made, too — but it led to some slight difficul-
ties with rocks that footed and roads that sank!

Illustrated by Kramer

When you’ve lived across the
fence from an amateur inventor,
you come to expect anything. When
the wind was right we used to get
some of the aw fullest chemical
stinks from the Nicklheim barn,
and we got so used to hearing ex-
plosions that they didn’t bother us
any more than automobile back-

5«

fires. We just took it for granted
when we’d see Elmer, the boy next
door, walking around with his eye-
brows singed off and the rest of
him wrapped up in bandage.

When Elmer was a little tad, he
was a great enthusiast for scientific
fiction. You hardly ever saw him
unless he was lugging some Jules

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Vernian opus around, and he ate
up all he read with dead earnest-
ness. With that yen for science it
might have been expected that he
would , shine at school, but it did
not work out that way. He wouldn’t
go along in the rut laid out for the
run-of-the-mine student. The
physics prof finally had him kicked
out for some crazy stunt he pulled
with the school’s equipment. Elmer
hooked it all together in a very un-
orthodox way, and the resulting
fireworks was quite a show.

Being barred from school did not
faze Elmer. He rigged up his own
lab in the barn, buying the stuff
from mail order houses with money
he made doing odd jobs. Some of
the people in the town thought the
boy might go places; most simply
thought he was a nut. I belonged
to the former group, and sometimes
helped the kid with small loans.
Not many of his inventions panned
out, but he did sell one gadget useful
in television to a big company. In
a way it proved to be a bad thing
he did. The company bought the
idea outright and paid promptly,
but afterwards for reasons of its
own it suppressed the invention —
an act that irked Elmer exceedingly.
It prejudiced him violently against
big corporations as such and the
whole patent set-up in general. He
swore that after that he would keep
all his discoveries secret.

About that time his father died,
and it looked as if Elmer had fin-
ished with his scientific dabbling
phase. Overnight he seemed to ma-
ture, and after that he was seldom
seen pottering around his bam. He

was busy about town, carrying on
the little one-horse trucking busi-
ness bequeathed him by the old man.
His truck was one of those vintage
rattletraps that appear to be always
threatening a make the legend of
the one hoss shay come true, but
Elmer was a fair mechanic and
somehow kept the old crate going.
Not only that, but to the astonish-
ment of the citizenry, he seemed to
be making money at it, and that at
a time when rate competition was
keen and gas expensive and hard
to get. I was beginning to think
we had witnessed the end of a bud-
ding scientist and the birth of an
up and coming young business man.
It was Elmer himself who disabused
me of that notion.

One morning he stopped his truck
at my gate and came up onto the
porch. He pulled out a wad of
bills and peeled off a couple of twen-
ties.

“Thanks,” he said. “It was a
big help, but I’m O.K. now.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” I said.
“There was no hurry about paying
it back. But I’m glad to see you’re
doing well in the hauling game. It
may not be as distinguished as get-
ting to Ire known as a big shot
scientist, but at least you eat.”

He gave me a funny look and
sort of smiled.

“Hauling game, huh?” he sniffed,
“I’d never thought of it that way.
I don’t cart stuff around for the
fun of it, or the money either.
That’s incidental. What I’m doing
is testing out a theory I thought
up.”

“What’s that one, Elmer?” I

TRICKY TONNAGE

67

asked. I had heard a lot of his
theories, first and last, and seen
most of them go flop. Elmer had
a very screwy approach to the mys-
teries of nature.

“It’s about gravity. I’ve found
out what it is, which is more than
anybody else since Newton has done.
It’s really very simple once you
know what makes it.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “That is what
Einstein says, except that he hasn’t
finished his universal field formula.
So you’ve beat him to it?”

“Yes. I’ve been running my
truck by gravity for the last three
months.”

That didn’t quite make sense to
me. The country round about was
hilly and a lot of coasting was pos-
sible. But still a vehicle couldn’t
coast up hill. Elmer was studying
me uncertainly, and I realized he
wanted to talk to somebody, but
he was always so cagey about his
projects that I hesitated to come
right out and ask.

“I’ve discovered something big,”
he said, soberly. “So big I don’t
know what to do with it. I’d like
to show it to somebody, only — ”

“Only what?”

“Oh, a lot of reasons. I don’t
mind being laughed at, but I’d like
to keep this secret for awhile. If
the other truckers found out how
I’m doing what I do, they might
gang up on me, smash the truck,
and all that. Then again there's
no telling what somebody else might
do with my idea if they got hold of
it before all the theory is worked
out.”

“I can keep a secret,” I told him.

“All right,” he said. “Come
along and I’ll show you something.”

I got in the truck with him. He
stepped on the starter and the
cranky old engine finally got going,
though I thought it would shake
us to pieces before it made up its
mind whether to run or not. Then
we lurched off down the road, rat-
tling and banging like a string of
cans tied to a mongrel’s tail.

“Where does the gravity come
in?” I asked.

“I don’t use it in town,” he said.
“People might get wise to me.”

We went on down to the oil com-
pany’s bulk station. It had been
raining off and on all week and
there was a good deal of mud, but
Elmer skirted the worst puddles
and we got up to the loading plat-
form all right. It was there I got
my first surprise. A couple of
huskies started loading up that
truck, and when they were through
I would have bet my last simoleon
Elmer would not get two miles with
it. There were six big barrels of
grease, weighing four hundred
pounds each, a half dozen drums of
oil, and some package goods. The
truck kept creaking and groaning,
and by the time the last piece was
on, its springs were mashed out flat
as pancakes. It was bad enough to
have that overload, but the stuff
was for Peavy’s store out at Breed-
ville — forty miles away over as
sketchy a bit of so-called highway
as can be found anywhere in
America.

“You’ll never get over Five Mile
Hill with that,” I warned Elmer.

S3

ASTOUNDING, SCIF.N CBS -FT G'TI ON

but he just grinned and pocketed
the invoices. The oil company agent
was looking on in a kind of puzzled
wonder. He had used Elmer’s de-
livery service before, but it was
clear that he didn’t believe his eyes.
Meanwhile Elmer got the motor go-
ing and we backed out of the yard.
There was a good deal of bucking
and backfiring and shimmying, but
pretty soon we were rolling along
toward the edge of town.

Just beyond the last house the
Breedville road turns sharp to the
right into some trees, and Elmer
stopped at a secluded place where
there was an outcropping of bed-
rock alongside the road proper. He
killed the engine and got a cable-

TBICKY TONNAGE

like affair out of his tool box.

“The first step,” he said, “is to
lighten the load.”

He hooked one end of the cable
against the side of a grease barrel
and the other he led to the bare
bedrock and attached it there. The
cable terminated in what appeared
to be rubber-suction cups. It
looked as if it were made of braided
asbestos rope, threaded with cop-
per wire, and near one end it spread
out in a flattened place like the hood
of a cobra. There was a small
dial and some buttons set in that.
Elmer set the dial and punched a
button. Instantly there was a pop-
ping sound as the truck bed stirred,
and I saw that it jumped up about

69

a quarter or half an inch.

“Now heft that barrel,” said El-
mer.

I did. If there hadn’t been an-
other one right behind me, I would
have gone overboard backward. I
got hold of the top of the cask and
gave it a tug, not dreaming I could
budge four hundred pounds of
heavy grease. But it came away
with about the same resistance that
an empty cardboard carton would
have had.

“What makes weight,” explained
Elmer, “is gravitons. All molecular
matter contains them in various de-
gree. Up to now nobody knew how
to extract them. You could only
manipulate weight by moving the
matter itself. I simply drain most
of the gravitons off into the bed-
rock where it will be out of the
way. It’s easy because there is a
gravitic gradient in that direction.”

As an explanation it was a long
way from being satisfactory. But
there was the barrel, plainly sten-
cilled with its gross weight, and it
was now practically weightless. The
weight had left as abruptly as a
short-circuited electric charge.
Moreover, Elmer was shifting his
cable from one drum to another,
and as he touched each one the
truck rose another notch. By the
time he was through it rode as high
as if there was no load at all.

“I’ll use the last one of these
drums for power,” said Elmer,
coiling up his cable and putting it
away. Then I saw that he was
making a short jumper connection
between it and another cable run-
ning down under the cab to the

60

hood. He lifted that up and showed
me an attachment on the shaft be-
hind the motor. It was a bulbous
affair of metal and there were two
leads to it. One was the connec-
tion to the drum, the other was a
short piece of cable that dangled
to the ground.

“I call that my Kineticizer,” said
Elmer. “It is really a gravity motor.
It works on exactly the same prin-
ciple as a water turbine except that
it doesn’t require the actual pres-
ence of the water. The upper
cable has more gravitic resistance
than the one I use to dump the load.
It feeds a slow stream of gravitons
to the upper vanes of a steel rotor.
They become heavy and start to
fall, exerting torque. At the bot-
tom they wipe the ground cable
and the moving gravitons simply
waste away into the road. Four
hundred pounds falling four feet
gives a lot of power — especially
when you use it all. See?”

Did I? I don’t know. It sounded
plausible, and anyway Elmer banged
down the hood and we climbed back
into the cab. That time we started
off like a zephyr. There was
smooth, silent, resistless power, and
the truck being lightened of its load,
leaped like a jack rabbit. The
gasoline motor was idle. The only
noise was the rattling of the fenders
and the swish of the air. Breed-
ville began to look more attainable.

After we straightened out on the
road, Elmer began to tell me about
gravities.

“It was Ehrenhaft’s work with
magnetics that got me to thinking

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

about it. Since he was already do-
ing magnetolysis I didn’t bother to
go along that line. What interested
me was the evident kinship on the
one hand between electric and mag-
netic phenomena in general, and
between the strong magnetism of
electric fields and iron and the rela-
tively weak magnetism of all other
substances.’'

I kept on listening. Elmer’s
whole theory of gravities was pretty
involved, and in some spots down-
right screwy. But on the whole it
hung together, and there I was rift-
ing along on a stream of moving
gravitons to prove it. According
to the Elmerian doctrine, in the be-
ginning there was chaos and all mat-
ter was highly magnetic. It there-
fore tended to coalesce into nebulae,
and thence into stars.

There the fierce pressures and
temperatures tended to strip the
basic matter of its more volatile
outer shells and hurl them outward
in the form of radiant energy.
Atomic stresses yielded enormous
quantities of light and heat and
great streams of magnetons and
electrons. In the end there is only
ash — the cold inert rocks of the
planetary bodies. With the excep-
tion of the ferric metals none of
that ash retains more than a bare
fragment of its original magnetic
power. Yet even rock when in mas-
sive concentration has strong at-
tractive power. The earth is such
a concentration, and its pull on the
apple was what woke Newton up.

From that concept Elmer dug
into the apple itself and into the
atoms that compose it. Mass, he

claimed, in so far as what we call
weight is concerned, is simply a
matter of gravitonic coefficient, a
graviton being the lowest unit — one
more aspect of the atom. It is the
nucleus of a magneton, what is left
after the outer shells have been
stripped away. The graviton is ut-
terly inert and heretofore locked
inseparably in the atoms of the sub-
stance to which it originally be-
longed. If only they could be in-
duced to move, their departure
would rob the parent substance of
nothing except weight, and by mov-
ing pure essence of weight poten-
tial energy could be turned into
kinetic with the minimum of loss.

“It was finding a suitable con-
ductor that stumped me longest,”
Elmer confessed, “and I’m not tell-
ing yet what that is. But as soon
as I found it I built this motor.
You see for yourself how beauti-
fully it works.”

I did, and I saw a myriad of rosy
dreams as well. We took Five Mile
Hill like a breeze, almost floating
over, thanks not only to the silent
drive but to the weightlessness of
the cargo. I thought of all the mas-
sive mountain ranges just sitting in
their grandeur with billions and bil-
lions of foot-tons of locked up en-
ergy awaiting release. I could en-
visage hundreds of kineticizer plants
around their slopes sending out an
abundance of free power. What it
did not occur to me to think of was
what would happen when those
mountains eventually became
weightless. What worried me most
just then was haw the other prop-
erties of materials would be affected

TRICKY TONNAGE

with alteration of its natural weight.

“Oh. not much/' said Elmer.
“The relative weights of duralumi-
num, steel and lead have nothing
whatever to do with their tensile
strength. I drained off most of
the weight of a pan of mercury and
tested it. I found that it got a
lot more viscous when it was light,
a characteristic that is overcome by
its normal heaviness. But other-
wise it was still mercury. There is
an anvil in my barn that weighs
less than a toy balloon. If it wasn’t
kept clamped to the block it sits
on, it would soar and bump against
the rafters, but as long as I keep
it from doing that I can still ham-
mer iron out on it.”

We were nearly to Breedville
when it began to rain again. Elmer
put up the storm curtains, and I
asked him about how Mr. Peavy
was going ‘to react at getting bar-
rels of grease that were lighter than
whipped cream.

“I’m going to take care of that
before we get there,” said Elmer.

I found out what he meant when
he pulled up under a railroad under-
pass about a mile this side of
Peavy’s store, tie got out and pro-
duced his cable again. This time
he attached it to the face of one
of the concrete abutments that held
up the girders carrying the track.
One by one he reloaded the barrels
by dead weight sucked out of the
abutment and let it run into the
containers on the truck. Again the
truck body settled groaning on its
springs.

“I’m working on a way to meter
this flow more accurately,” said

62

Elmer with a grin. “The last load
out here Peavy squawked like
everything because the stuff was
light. This time I’ll give him good
measure. Nobody ever kicks at
getting more pounds than he paid
for.”

Well, there it was — Elmer’s stunt
full cycle. No wonder his gas and
tire costs were less than anybody
else’s in the business, or that he
could set out on a long trip with
an impossible load. He had only
to reduce the load to zero, using
part of it for power, and replenish
it at the other end of the line.

We went on to Peavy’s, using
the wheezy gasoline motor again.
No one at the store saw anything
amiss when we drove up, and
though Peavy was careful to roll
each box and drum onto the scale,
he made no comment when he
found them markedly overweight.
He probably figured it was only
justice from the short-changing he
had had on the delivery before, and
on which the oil company had been
adamant as to adjustment. Elmer
then picked up some empty drums
and we started back.

The rain was coming down hard
by then, and when we got to the
underpass there were several inches
of water in it. Elmer stopped long
enough to draw off a few more hun-
dred pounds of avoirdupois into one
of the empty drums so as to have
power for the trip home, tie said
it was the best place along his route
to get needed weight in a hurry.

We started up, but had not gone
more than about a hundred yards

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

when we heard a terrific swoosh
behind us, and on the heels of it a
resounding metallic crash and the
scream of shearing metal. The
ground shook, and a wave of muddy
water swept along the road from
behind and passed us, gurgling
among the wheel spokes.

“What on Earth?” yelled Elmer,
and stopped the car.

What was behind us was not
pretty to see. The concrete abut-
ment we had just left had slid
from its foundation straight across
the road until it almost impinged
on its opposite mate. What had
been the earth fill behind it was a
mass of sprawling semiliquid mud.
Sodden by days of rain and heavy
with water, the fill had come to act
like water behind a dam and sim-
ply pushed along the line of least
resistance. The now practically
weightless retaining wall gave way,
since there was only friction to hold
it where it should be. The two
great black steel-girders that it sup-
ported lay at an awkward angle half
in the pit where the underpass had
been, half sticking up into the air.

“Gosh,” said Elmer, gazing at
the spectacle. “Do you suppose I
did that?”

“I’m afraid you did,” I said.
“Maybe concrete don’t need weight
for strength, but it has to have
something to hold it down.”

Well, the damage was done, and
Elmer was scared. A train was due
soon and something had to be done
about it. So we drove on to the
first farmhouse that had a phone
and sent in word about a washout.

After that we went on home, Elmer
being pretty chastened.

The days that followed were quite
hectic. The more the railroad and
public utility commission engineers
studied the retaining wall’s failure,
the more baffled they became. The
abutment itself was unmarred in
the least degree. There was not
a crack in it, and only a few chipped
places where the falling girders had
knocked corners off. Experts chis-
eled chunks of it and took them
to dozens of engineering labs. The
records of the contracting firm that
built it were overhauled. The wall
was up to specifications and had
been thoroughly inspected at the
time of construction. The frag-
ments subjected to strains and
stresses reacted as they should, hav-
ing exactly the tensile and compres-
sion strength it should have. The
mix was right, the ingredients with-
out flaw. The hitch was that the
stuff under examination had about
the same weight as an equal volume
of t>alsa wood!

Learned treatises began to ap-
pear in the engineering journals
under such titles as, “Weight Loss
in Mature Concretes,” “Extraordi-
nary Deterioration Noted in Failure
of Concrete Railway Abutment,”
and so on. Throughout the whole
strange controversy Elmer never
peeped, and neither did I. I kept
silent for several reasons, and only
one of them was the fact that I
had given Elmer my pledge not to
divulge his invention before he gave
the word. Mainly I felt that what-
ever I might tell them would be re-

TRICKY TONNAGE

es

ceived as too ridiculous to be be-
lieved. After all, people just don't
go around sapping idle weight from
stationary objects.

The sequel to the incident has to
remain obscure. The very ride that
let me into the secret proved also
to be the cause of my being ex-
cluded from it thereafter. I caught
a cold that day, and before long it
turned into pneumonia. Complica-
tions followed, and there were some
months when I was confined to a
hospital bed. When I was out again
and around, my neighbor Elmer had
gone, presumably in search of wider
fields.

It is a pity that Elmer’s unfor-
tunate experience with his earlier
invention soured him on the usual
channels of development, for I

64

think what happened to him later
was that he got into the hands of
unscrupulous promoters. For quite
a long time after the collapse of the
railroad crossing I heard nothing of
Elmer himself or his world-shaking
discovery. But little bits of news
kept cropping up that indicated to
me that while Elmer’s secret was
being kept, it was not getting rusty
from disuse, though he lacked the
necessary business imagination ever
to put it to its best uses.

There was the phenomenal suc-
cess of Trans-America "Trucking,
for example. It was significant to
me that the Eastern terminus of its
main haul was laid out in the bottom
of an abandoned rock quarry and
its Pacific end in a deep canyon.
I thought I knew where the power

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

came from, especially when an oil
salesman told me he had tried hard
to get the Trans- America contract.
They not only refused to buy from
him, but he could not find out what
company, if any, was supplying
them. I also noted that Trans-
America was continually embroiled
in law suits arising from discrepan-
cies in weights. I knew from that
that Elmer had not yet solved the
problem of metering his weight
siphons.

There were other straws that
pointed to Elmer’s fine hand. High-
way engineers along the routes trav-
ersed chiefly by his trucks discov-
ered after a time that even the dirt
roads over which the trucks ran
needed little or no binder. The sur-
face soil was found to be incredibly
heavy, like powdered lead, and
therefore did not dust away under
high-speed traffic. In the course of
time it became as hard and com-
pact as the floor of a machine shop
where iron chips form the soil.

But eventually there was trouble.
Disloyal employees must have stolen
lengths of Elmer’s mysterious gravi-
ton conductor, for there was a story
told in some glee of a policeman
giving chase to a fleeing man who
had a big iron safe on his shoul-
ders! The burglar got away, so
for a time Elmer’s secret was com-
paratively safe. And then there
was the exposure of what was later
known as the spud racket.

One of Trans- America’s ex-
truckmen, being aware that potatoes
were sold by the pound, saw oppor-
tunity. He absconded with a length

of Elmer’s cable and set himself
up in the potato business. He was
modest at first. The spuds he han-
dled were overweight, but not too
much too heavy when he resold
them. The dieticians in the big in-
stitutions were the first to notice
something wrong, for they had
analysts to interpret the figures. But
greed got the best of the gangster
truckman. Not content with his
initial ten or twenty percent boosts
in weight, he poured on the avoir-
dupois thicker and thicker. The
average housewife began to com-
plain that big potatoes required all
her strength to lift.

The day the market inspectors
raided the man’s storehouse the cat
was out of the bag. They uncovered
an endless stream of potatoes on
a conveyor belt that ran by a bin
filled with scrap iron. As each spud
passed a certain point it was wiped
by a wisp of mineral wool, where-
upon the belt beneath sagged deeply
and spilled the potatoes onto the
floor. Cranes scooped them up and
carried them to the packing depart-
ment.

The subsequent prosecution ran
into a myriad legal difficulties.
There was ample precedent for deal-
ing with short weights, but none
for artificially added surplus weight.
Chemists sought to prove, once they
tumbled to the concept of movable
gravitons, that the introduction of
ferrous gravitons into a food prod-
uct constituted a willful adultera-
tion. They failed. The composition
of the potatoes was no more altered
than , is that of iron when tempo-
rarily magnetized. In the end the

«6

TRICKY TONNAGE

case was thrown out of court, much
to the anger of some theologians
who had also developed an interest
in the case.

That there was at once a spate
of laws forbidding the alteration of
natural weights was inevitable.
State after state enacted them, and
the Interstate Commerce Commis-
sion began an investigation of
Trans- America Trucking, damaging
admissions having been made by the
potato racketeer. It was the col-
lapse of one of the cliffs at the
western terminus of that company
that was the straw to break the
camel’s back. Weight shifting be-
came a federal offense with drastic
penalties.

Perhaps collapse is a badly chosen
word. The cliff disintegrated, but
it did not fall. It soared.

It happened late one afternoon
shortly after a heavy convoy ar-
rived from the east. Thousands of
tons of weight had to be made up,
and the power units of the incoming
trucks recharged with still more
weight. The already lightened cliff
yielded up its last pounds, for it had
been drawn upon heavily for a long
time. Its stone, being loosely strati-
fied, lacked cohesion, so with sound
effects rivaling those of the siege of
Stalingrad, it fell apart — upward —
in a cloud of dust and boulders.
The fragments, though stone,
weighed virtually nothing, rose like
balloons and were soon dispersed
by the winds.

Unfortunately the canyon was
not far from the most traveled
transcontinental air route. Within
an hour pilots were reporting seeing

what they described as inert bodies
floating in the upper air. One of
them ran into a stone no bigger
than his fist, but since he was mak-
ing several hundred miles an hour
at the time, it neatly demolished one
of his wings. That night two
stratoliners were brought down,
both riddled with imponderable
gravel. The debris while lighter
than air, still had some residual
weight and unimpaired tensile
strength.

Congress intervened. Trans-
America’s charter was voided and
its equipment confiscated and de-
stroyed. Elmer was forbidden to
resume business except in orthodox
lines. There was no place in the
United States for his invention.

That should have been the end of
the Theory of Gravities and its un-
happy applications. But it was not.
For Elmer had associates by that
time who had tasted the luxury of
sure and easy profits, and they were
not to be denied. Rumor had it
that it was his shady partners who
took over the financial end and
relegated him to his lab again to
hunt for other means of utilizing
his kineticizcr. However that may
be, the next stage was several years
in incubation. For a time gravitons
ceased to be news except in scienti-
fic circles where controversies pro
and con still raged. People had
already begun to forget when
Caribbean Power announced itself
to the world.

It started operating from a tiny
island republic known as Cangrejo
Key. Through oversight, or be-

ASTOUNDING SC IE MCE F ICT I ON

cause it was a worthless patch of
coral sand frequently swept by hur-
ricanes, mention of it was omitted
in the treaty between the United
States and Spain at the end of the
war of 1898. It was still Spanish
until the graviton syndicate bought
it from an impoverished Franco for
a few millions in real gold. Where-
upon the Cangrejo Commonwealth
was set up as an independent state
and a law to itself.

By then they had one valuable
addition to their bag of tricks —
Elmer’s third great invention. It
was a transmitter of beamed radio
electric power, and they promptly
entered into contracts with large
industries in nearby America for
the sale of unlimited broadcast
power at ridiculously low rates. At
first the great maritime powers pro-
tested, suspecting what was afoot

and fearing the incalculable effects
on shipping if Caribbean Power
meant to rob the sea of its weight.
But the storm subsided • when the
new republic assured them sea water
would not be touched. They pledged
themselves to draw only from the
potential energy of the island they
owned. So the world settled down
and forgot its fears. No matter
what happened to Cangrejo Key,
there was the promise of abundant
cheap power, and at the worst one
coral islet more or less did not
matter. Even if its sands did float
off into the sky as had the canyon
wall on the Pacific Coast they could
do little harm, the Key being well
off the air lanes.

It was a premature hope, for they
reckoned without the ingenuity of
the men behind the scheme. Soon
great derricks reared themselves on

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With Thin Gillette Blades— four for ten!
Your fare looks well-groomed, feels top-grade.
And you get lots more shaves per blade!

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at Rock-Bottom Price

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TRICKY TONNAGE

AST— 3S

67

the Key and drills began biting their
way into the earth. By the time the
holes reached eight miles depth the
transmission towers were built and
ready. Then came the flow of
power, immense and seemingly in-
exhaustible. A battery of kinetici-
zer-dynamos commenced operat-
ing, suspended by cables deep into
the bowels of the planet, converting
the weight that was overhead into
kilowatts which were sent up to the
surface through copper wires.
There it was converted into radio
power waves and broadcast out to
the customers. It was good, clean
power. Industry was grateful.

How deep the syndicate eventu-
ally sunk its shafts no one ever
knew. Nor how many millions of
tons of earth weight were converted
into electric energy and spewed out
to the factories of the world. But
it took only a few years for the
project to revolutionize modern
economics. With power literally as
cheap as air, coal holdings became
worthless and petroleum nearly so.
In the heydey of the power boom
cities like New York went so far
as to install outdoor heating units
so that in the coldest of cold waves
its citizens could still stroll about
without overcoats. There was no
point in conservation any more.
Old- Terra Firma had gravitons to
burn.

The beginning of the payoff came
with the Nassau disaster. The
town was flattened by a mighty
earthquake, and the attendant tidal
wave left little of the Florida coastal
cities. When the tremors died

THE

61

down the British Empire found it
had added another island of near
continental size to its realm. The
Bahama Bank had risen above water
and then stood from ten to fifty feet
above sea level throughout. But
there was a rider attached to that
dubious blessing. The bed of the
Florida Straits had risen corres-
pondingly and the current of the
Gulf Stream diminished. Europeans
began to worry about the effect of
that upon their climate.

Isostatic adjustment was respon-
sible, sober geologists warned
darkly. Let the Caribbean Power
gang continue to rob that region of
its proper weight there would be
nothing to hold it down. Adjacent
geographical masses would push in
to fill the vacuum, just as the under-
lying, restless, semifluid magma
would push up. The time would
soon come when mountains rivaling
the Himalayas would rear loftily
where the Bahama Bank had been
and when that day came the other
islands about it and the nearby
continental areas might well be only
shoal spots in a shallowing sea. The
Republic of Cangrejo had to go. It
was a matter for the new United
Nations Court to decide.

Well, that’s the story of Elmer
Nicklheim’s kineticizer as I know it.

I am still wondering whether he
was with the gang the day the
bombers came over and blasted
Caribbean Power off the map. If
he was, I think he must have been '
a prisoner, for the gang he at -last
teamed up with turned out to be an
arrogant, greedy lot.

END.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

Firing Line

by GEORGE O. SMITH

Hellion Murdoch was on the loose, es-
caped and deadly — and out to get Don
Channmg. A top-rank gadgeteer on
the loose , however, can be devastatmgly
deadly himself —

Illustrated by Orban

Mark Kingman was surprised
by the tapping on his windowpane.
He thought that the window was
unreachable from the outside — and
then he realized that it was prob-
ably someone throwing bits of dirt
or small stones. But who would
do that when the doorway was free
for any bell-ringer?

He shrugged, and went to the
window to look out — and become
cross-eyed as his eyes tried to cope
with a single circle not more than
ten inches distant. He could see
the circle — and the lands on the in-
side spiraling into the depths of the
barrel, and a cold shiver ran up his
spine from there to here. Behind

the heavy automatic, a dark -com-
plected man with a hawklike face
grinned mirthlessly.

Kingman stepped back and the
stranger swung in and sat upon the
windowsill.

“Well?” asked the lawyer.

“Is it well?” asked the stranger.
“You know me?”

“No. Never saw you before in
my life? Is this a burglary?”

“Nope. If it were, I’d have
drilled you first so you couldn’t de-
scribe me.”

Kingman shuddered. The stran-
ger looked as though he meant it.

“In case you require an intro-
duction,” said the hard-faced man,

firing line

“I’m Allison Murdoch.”

“Hellion?”

“None other.”

“You were in jail — ”

“I know. I’ve been there be-
fore.”

“But how did you escape?”

“I’m a doctor of some repute,”
said Hellion. “Or was, until my
darker reputation exceeded my
reputation for neural surgery. It
was simple. I slit my arm and de-
posited therein the contents of a
cigarette. It swelled up like gan-
grene and they removed me to the
hospital. I removed a few guards
and lit out in the ambulance. And
I am here.”

“Why?” Kingman then became
thoughtful. “You’re not telling me
this for mutual friendship, Mur-
doch. What’s on your mind?”
“You were in the clink, too.
How did you get out?”

“The court proceedings were un-
der question for procedure. It was
further ruled that — ”

“I see. You bought your way
out.”

“I did not—”

“Kingman, you’re a lawyer. A
smart one, too.”

“Thank you — ”

“But you’re capable of buying
your freedom, which you did. Fun-
damentally, it makes no difference
whether you bribe a guard to look
the other way or bribe a jury to
vote the other way. It’s bribery in
either case.”

Kingman smiled in a superior
way. “With the very important
difference that the latter means re-
sults in absolute freedom. Bribing

7*

a guard is freedom only so long as
the law may be avoided.”

“So you did bribe the jury?”

“I did nothing of the sort. It
was a ruling over a technicality that
did me the favor.”

“You created the technicality.”
“Look,” said Kingman sharply.
“You didn’t come here to steal by
your own admission and your ex-
cellent logic. You never saw, me
before, and I do not know of you
save what I’ve heard. Revenge for
something real or fancied is obvi-
ously no reason for this visit. I
was charged with several kinds of
larceny, which charges fell through
and I was acquitted *)f them —
which means that I did not commit
them. I, therefore, am no criminal.
On the other hand, you have a rec-
ord. You were in jail, convicted,
and you escaped by some means
that may have included the act of
first-degree murder. You came
here for some reason, Murdoch.
But let me tell you this: I am in
no way required to explain the
workings of my mind. If you ex-
pect me to reveal some legal mach-
ination by which I gained my
freedom, you are mistaken. As far
as the solar system is concerned,
everything was legal and above
board.”

“I get it,” smiled Murdoch.
“You’re untouchable.”

“Precisely, And rightfully so.”
“You’re the man I want, then.”
“It isn’t mutual. I have no de-
sire to be identified with a criminal
of your caliber.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asked
Murdoch,

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

“It is fundamentally futile. You
are not a brilliant criminal. You’ve
been caught.”

“I didn’t have the proper assist-
ance. I shall not be caught again.
Look,” he said suddenly, “how is
your relationship with Venus Equi-
lateral ?”

Kingman gritted his teeth and
made an animal noise.

“I thought so. I have a score of
my own to settle. But I need your
help. Do I get it ?”

“I can’t see how one of your cali-
ber is capable — ”

“Are you or aren’t you? Your
answer may decide the duration of
your life.”

“You needn’t threaten. I’m will-
ing to go to any lengths to get even
with Channing and his crowd. But
it must be good.”

“I was beaten by a technical er-
ror,” explained Murdoch. “The
coating on my ship did it.”

“How?”

“They fired at me with a super
electron-gun. A betatron. It hit
me and disrupted the ship’s appa-
ratus. The thing couldn’t have hap-
pened if the standard space-finish
hadn’t been applied to the Hippoc-
rates.”

“I’m not a technical man,” said
Kingman. “Explain, please.”

“The average ship is coated with
a complex metallic oxide which
among other things inhibits sec-
ondary emission. Had we been run-
ning a ship without this coating,
the secondary emission would have
left the Hippocrates in fair con-
dition electronically, but the 'Relay

Station would have received sev-
eral times the electronic charge. But
the coating accepted the terrific
charge and prevented the normal
urge of electrons to leave by sec-
ondary emission — ”

“What is secondary emission?”
“When an electron hits at any
velocity, it drives from one to as
high as fifty electrons from the
substance it hits. The quantity de-
pends upon the velocity of the origi-
nal electron, the charges on cathode
and anode, the material from which
the target is made, and so on. We
soaked ’em in like a sponge and
took it bad. But the next time,
we’ll coat the ship with the oppo-
site stuff. We’ll take a bit of
Venus Equilateral for ourselves.”

“I like the idea. But how ?”
“We’ll try no frontal attack.
Storming a citadel like Venus Equi-
lateral is no child’s play, Kingman.
As you know, they’re prepared for
anything either legal or technical.
I have a great respect for the com-
bined abilities of Channing and
Franks. I made my first mistake
by giving them three days to make
up their minds. In that time, they
devised, tested, and approved an
electron weapon of some power.
Their use of it was as dangerous
to them as it was to me — or would
have been if I’d been prepared
with a metallic-oxide coating of the
proper type.”

“Just what are you proposing?”
asked Kingman. “I do not under-
stand what you’re getting at.”
“You are still one of the officials
of Terran Electric?”

“Naturally.”

FIRING LINE

71

“You will be surprised to know
that I hold considerable stock in
that company.”

“How, may I ask?”

“The last time you bucked them,
you did it on the market. You
lost,” grinned Murdoch. “Proving
that you haven’t a one hundred per-
cent record either. Well, while
Terran Electric was dragging its
par value down around the twos
and threes, I took a few shares.”
“How do you stand?”

“I rather imagine that I hold
fifteen or twenty percent.”

“That took money.”

“I have money,” said Murdoch
modestly. “Plenty of it. I should
have grabbed more stock, but I fig-
ured that between us we have
enough to do as we please. What’s
your holdings?”

“I once held forty-one percent.
They bilked me out of some of that.
I have less than thirty percent.”
“So we’ll run the market crazy
again, and between us we’ll take off
control. Then, Kingman, we’ll use
Terran Electric to ruin Venus Equi-
| lateral.”

“Terran Electric isn’t too good
a company now,” admitted King-
man. “The public stays away in
huge droves since we bucked In-
terplanetary Communications. That
bunch of electronic screwballs , has
the public acclaim. They’re now
i in solid since they opened person-to-
person phone on the driver fre-
{ quencies. You can talk to someone
t in the Palanortis Country of Venus
1 with the same quality and speak-
| ability that you get in making a call

from here to the house across the
street.”

“Terran Electric is about fin-
ished,” said Murdoch flatly. “They
shot their wad and lost. You’ll be
bankrupt in a year, and you know
it.”

“That includes you, doesn’t it?”
“Terran Electric is not the main-
stay of my holdings,” smiled Mur-
doch. “Under assumed names, I
have picked up quite a few bits.
Look, Kingman, I’m advocating pi-
racy !”

“Piracy ?” asked Kingman
aghast.

“Illegal piracy. But I’m intelli-
gent. I realize that a pirate hasn’t
a chance against civilization un-
Jess he is as smart as they are. We
need a research and construction
organization, and that’s where Ter-
ran Electric comes in. It’s an old
company, well established. It’s now
on the rocks. ’ We can build it up
again. We’ll use it for a base, and
set the research boys to figuring out
the answers we need. Eventually
we’ll control Venus Equilateral, and
half of the enterprises throughout
the system.”

“And your main plan?”

“You run Terran Electric, and
I'll run the space piracy. Between
us we’ll have the system over a bar-
rel. Space craft are still run with-
out weapons, and no weapons are
suited for space fighting. But the
new field opened up by the driver
radiation energy may exhibit some-
thing new in weapons. That’s what
I want Terran Electric to work on.”
“We’ll have to plan a bit more,”
said Kingman thoughtfully. * “I’ll

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

cover you up, and eventually we’ll
buy you out. Meanwhile we’ll go
to work on the market and get con-
trol of Terran Electric. And plan,
too. It’ll have to be foolproof.”

“It will be,” said Murdoch.
“We’ll plan it that way.”

“We’ll drink on it,” said King-
man.

“You’ll drink on it,” said Mur-
doch. “I never touch the stuff. I
still pride myself on my skill with a
scalpel, and I do not care to lose it.
Frankly, I hope to keep it long
enough to uncover the metatarsal
bones of one Donald Channing, Di-
rector of Communications.”

Kingman shuddered. At times,
murder had passed through his
mind when thinking of Channing.
But this cruel idea of vivisecting
an enemy indicated a sadism that
was far beyond Kingman’s idea of
revenge. Of course, Kingman
never considered that ruining a
man financially, reducing him to ab-
solute dependency upon friends or
government, when the man had
spent his life in freedom and plenty
— the latter gained by his ability
under freedom — was cruel and in-
human.

And yet it would take a com-
pletely dispassionate observer to tell
which was worse; to ruin a man’s
body or to ruin a man’s life.

The man in question was oblivi-
ous to these plans on his future.
He was standing before a compli-
cated maze of laboratory glassware
and a haywire tangle of electronic
origin. He looked it over in puz-
zlement, and his lack of enthusiasm

bothered the other man. Wesley
Farrell thought that his boss would
have been volubly glad to see the
fruits of his labor.

“No doubt it’s wonderful,” smiled
Channing. “But what is it, Wes?”
“Why, I’ve been working on an
alloy that will not sustain an arc.”
“Go on. I’m interested even
though I do not climb the chande-
lier and scream, beating my manly
chest.”

“Oil switches are cumbersome.
Any other means of breaking con-
tact is equally cumbersome if it is
to handle much power. My alloy
is non-arcing. It will not sustain
an arc, even though the highest cur-
rent and voltage are broken.”

“Now I am really interested,”
admitted Channing.- “Oil switches
in a spaceship are a definite draw-
back.”

“I know. So — here we are.”
“What’s the rest of this stuff?”
asked Channing, laying a hand on
the glassware.

“Be careful !” said Farrell in con-
cern. “That’s hot stuff.”

“Oh?”

“In order to get some real volt-
ages and currents to break without
running the main Station bus
through here, I cooked this stuff up.
The plate-grilleworks in the large
tubes exhibit a capacity between
them of about one microfarad.
Empty, that is, or I should say pre-
cisely point nine eight microfarads
in vacuuo. The fluid is of my own
devising, concocted for the occa-
sion, and has a dielectric constant
of thirteen times ten to the sixth
power. It — ”

FI KINO LINE

7*

“Great Howling Rockets !” ex-
ploded Channing. “That makes the
overall capacity equal to thirteen
farads!”

“Just about. Well, I have the
condenser charged to three kilo-
volts, and then I discharge it
through this switch made of the
non-arcing alloy. Watch! No,
Don, from back here, please, be-
hind this safety glass.”

Channing made some discomfort-
ing calculations about thirteen
farads at three thousand volts
charge and decided that there was
something definitely unlucky about
the number thirteen.

“The switch, now,” continued
Farrell, as though thirteen farads
was just a mere drop in the bucket,
“is opened four milliseconds after
it is closed. The time-constant of
the discharging resistance is such
that the voltage is point eight three,
of its peak three thousand volts,
giving a good check of the alloy.”
“I should think so,” groused
Channing. “Eighty-three percent
of three thousand volts is just shy
of twenty-five hundred volts. The
current of discharge passing
through a circuit that will drop the
charge in a thirteen farad condenser
eighty-three percent in four milli-
seconds will be something fierce, be-
lieve me.”

“That is why I use the heavy bus-
bars from the condenser bank
through the switch.”

“I get it. Go ahead, Wes. I
want to see this non-arcing switch
of yours perform.”

Farrell checked the meters, and
then said “Now !” and punched the

74

switch at his side. Across the room
a solenoid drove the special alloy
bar between two clamps of similar
metal. Almost immediately, four
thousandths of a second later, to be
exact, the solenoid reacted auto-
matically and the no-arc alloy was
withdrawn. A minute spark flashed
briefly between the contacts.

“And that is that,” said Chan-
ning, slightly dazed by the magni-
tude of it all, and the utter sim-
plicity of the effects. “But look,
Wes, may I ask you a favor?
Please discharge that infernal ma-
chine and drain that electrolyte out.
Then make the thing up in a tool-
steel case and seal it. Also hang on
busbars right at the plates them-
selves, and slap a peak-voltage fuse
across the terminals. One that will
close at anything above three thou -
sand volts. Follow me?”

“I think so. But that is not the
main point of interest — ”

“I know,” grinned Channing,
mopping his forehead. “The non-
arc is. But that fragile glassware
makes me as jittery as a Mexican
jumping bean.”

“But why?”

“Wes, if that glassware fractures
somewhere, and that electrolyte
drools out, you'll have a condenser
of one microfarad — charged to thir-
teen million times three thousand
volts. Or, in nice, hollow, round
numbers, forty billion volts! Four
times ten to the tenth. Of course,
it won’t get that far. It’ll arc
across the contacts before it gets
that high, but it might raise par-
ticular hell on the way out. Take it
easy, Wes. We’re seventy million-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

odd miles from the nearest large
body of dirt, all collected in a little
steel bottle about three miles long
and a mile in diameter. I’d hate to
stop all interplanetary communica-
tions while we scraped ourselves off
of the various walls and treated our-
selves for electric shock. It would
— the discharge itself, I mean —
raise hell with the equipment any-
way. So play it easy, Wes. We
do not permit certain experiments
out here because of the slow neu-
trons that sort of wander through
here at fair density. Likewise, we-
cannot permit dangerous experi-
ments. And anything that includes
a dangerous experiment must be
out, too.”

“Oh,” said Wes. His voice and
attitude were together crestfallen.

“Don’t take it so hard, fella,”
grinned Channing. “Anytime we
have to indulge in dangerous ex-
periments, we always do it with an
assistant — and in one of the blister-
laboratories. But take that fragile
glassware out of the picture and
I’ll buy it,” he finished.

Walt Franks entered and asked
what was going on.

“Wes was just demonstrating the
latest equipment in concentrated
deviltry,” smiled Channing.

“That’s my department,” said
Walt.

“Oh, it’s nojt as bad as your
stuff,” said Channing. “What he’s
got here is an alloy that will break
several million watts without an arc.
Great stuff, Walt.”

“Sounds swell,” said Walt. “Bet-
ter scribble it up and we’ll get a

FIRING LINE

patent. It sounds useful.”

“I think it may bring us a bit of
change,” said Channing. “It’s great
stuff, Wes.”

“Thanks. It annoyed me to see
those terrific oil-breakers we have
here. All I wanted to do was to
replace ’em with something smaller
and more efficient.”

“You did, Wes. And that isn't
all. How did you dream up that
high-dielectric?” ,

“Applied several of the physical
phenomena.”

“That’s a good bet, too. We can
use several fluids of various dielec-
tric constants. Can you make solids
as well?”

“Not as easily. But I can try — ?” .
“Go ahead and note anything you
find above the present, listed com-
pounds and their values.”

“I’ll list everything, as I always
do.”

“Good. And the first thing to do
is to can that stuff in a steel case.”
“It’ll have to be plastalloy.”
“That’s as strong as steel and
nonconducting. Go ahead.”

Channing led Franks from the
laboratory, and once outside Chan-
ning gave way to a session of the
shakes. “Walt,” he asked plain-
tively, “take me by the hand and
lead me to Joe’s. I need some vita-
mins.”

“Bad?”

“Did you see that glassblower’s
nightmare ?”

“You mean that collection of cut
glass?” grinned Walt. “Uh-huh.
It looked as though it were about
to collapse of its own dead weight.”
“That held an electrolyte of di-

75

electric constant thirteen times ten
to the sixth. He had it charged to
a mere three thousand volts. Ye
Gods, Walt. Thirteen farads at
three KV. Whew. And when he
discharged it, the confounded leads
that went through the glass side-
walls to the condenser plates posi-
tively glowed in the cherry red. I
swear it!”

“He’s like that,” said Walt. “You
shouldn’t worry about him. He’ll
have built that condenser out of
good stuff — the leads will be al-
loys like those we use in the bigger
tubes. They wouldn’t fracture the
glass seals no matter what the tem-
perature difference between them
and the glass was. Having that al-
loy around the place — up in the
tube -maintenance department they
have a half ton of quarter-inch rod
■ — he’d use it naturally.”

“Could be, Walt. Maybe I’m a
worry wart.”

“You’re not used to working with
his kind.”

“I quote : ‘Requiring a high volt-
age source of considerable current
capacity, I hit upon the scheme of
making a super-high capacity con-
denser and discharging it through
my no-arc alloy. To do this it was
necessary that I invent a dielectric
material of C equals thirteen times
ten to the sixth.’ Unquote.”

“Wes is a pure scientist," re-
minded Walt. “If he were investi-
gating the electrical properties of
zinc, and required solar power mag-
nitudes to complete his investiga-
tion, he’d invent it and then include
it as incidental to the investigation
on zinc. He’s never really under-

,3«.

stood our recent divergence in pur-
pose over the power tube. That we
should make it soak up power from
Sol was incidental and useful only
as a lever or means to make Terran
Electric give us our way. He’d
have forgotten it, I’ll bet, since it
was not the ultimate goal of the in-
vestigation.”

“He knows his stuff, though.”

“Granted. Wes is brilliant. He
is a physicist, though, and neither
engineer nor inventor. I doubt that
he is really interested in the practi-
cal aspects of anything that is not
directly concerned with his eating
and sleeping.”

“What are we going to do about
him ?”

“Absolutely nothing. You aren’t
like him — ”

“I hope not.”

“And conversely, why should we
try to make him like you ?”

“That I’m against !” chimed in a
new voice. Arden Channing took
each man by the arm and looked up
on either side of her, into one face
and then the other. “No matter
how, why, when, who, or what, one
like him is all that the solar system
can stand.”

“Walt and I are pretty much
alike.”

“Uh-huh. You are. That’s as it
should be. You balance one an-
other nicely. You couldn’t use an-
other like you. You’re speaking of
Wes Farrell?”

“Right.”

“Leave him alone,” said Arden
sagely. “He’s good as he is. To
make him similar to you would be to
spoil a good man. He’d then be

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He
doesn’t think as you do, but instead
proceeds in a straight line from re-
mote possibility to foregone conclu-
sion. Anything that gets needed en
route is used, or gadgeteered and
forgotten. That’s where you come
in, fellows. Inspect his by-prod-
ucts. They may be darned useful.”
“O. K. Anybody care for a
drink?”

“Yup. All of us,” said Arden.
"Don, how did you rate such a
good-looking wife?”

‘‘I hired her,” grinned Channing.
"She used to make all my steno-
graphic mistakes, remember?”

“And gave up numerous small
errors for one large one ? Uh-huh.
I recall. Some luck.”

"It was my charm.”

“Baloney. Arden, tell the truth.
Didn’t he threaten you with some-
thing terrible if you didn’t marry
him ?”

"You tell him,” grinned Chan-
ning. “I’ve got work to do.”

Channing left the establishment
known as Joe’s and advertised as
the “Best bar in twenty-seven mil-
lion miles, minimum,” and made his
way toward his office slowly. He
didn’t reach it. Not right away.
He was' intercepted by Charley
Thomas who invited him to view a
small experiment. Channing smiled
and said that he’d prefer to see an
experiment of any kind to going to
his office, and followed Charley.

“You recall the gadget we use to
get perfect tuning with the alloy-
selectivity transmitter ?”

"You mean that variable alloy

disk all bottled up and rotated with
a selsyn?” asked Don, wondering
what came next. "Naturally I re-
member it. Why?”

“Well, we’ve found that certain
submicroscopic effects occur with
inert objects. What I mean is this:
Given a chunk of cold steel of
goodly mass and tune your alloy-
disk to pure steel, and you can get
a few micro-microamperes output
if the tube is pointed at the object.”
“Sounds interesting. How much
amplification do you need to get this
reading and how do you make it
tick?”

“We run the amplifier up to the
limit and then sweep the tube across
the object sought, and the output
meter leaps skyward by just enough
to make us certain of our results.
Watch !”

Charley set the tube in operation
and checked it briefly. Then he
took Don’s hand and put it on the
handle that swung the tube on its
gimbals. “Sort of paint the wall
with it,” he said. “You’ll see the
deflection as you pass the slab of
tool steel that’s standing there.”
Channing did, and watched the
minute flicker of the ultra-sensitive
meter. “Wonderful,” he grinned,
as the door opened and Franks en-
tered.

“Hi, Don. Is it true that you
bombarded her with flowers?”
“Nope. She’s just building up
some other woman’s chances. Have
you seen this effect?”

“Yeah — it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
“That’s what I like about this
place,” said Charley with a huge
smile. “That’s approximately seven

FIRING MNE

77

micro-microamperes output after
amplification on the order of two
hundred million times. We’re
either working on something so
small we can’t see it or something
so big we can’t count it. It’s either
fifteen decimal places to the left or
to the right. Every night when I
go home, I say a little prayer. I
say: ‘Dear God, please let me find
something today that is based upon
unity, or at least no more than two
decimal places’ but it is no good.
If He hears me at all, He’s too
busy to bother with things that the
human race classifies as ‘One.’ ”
“How do you classify resistance,
current, and voltage?” asked Chan-
ning, manipulating the tube on its

gimbals and watching the effect.

“One million volts across ten
megohms equals one hundred thou-
sand microamperes. That's accord-
ing to Ohm’s Law.”

“He’s got the zero-madness too,”
chuckled Walt, “it obtains from
thinking in astronomical distances,
with interplanetary coverages in
watts, and celestial input, and stuff
like that. Don, this thing may be
handy, some day. I’d like to de-
velop it.”

“I suggest that couple of stages
of tube-amplification might help.
Amplify it before transduction into
electronic propagation.”

“We can get four or five stages of
sub-electronic amplification, I think.

7*

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION

It’ll tike some working.”

“O. K., Charley. Cook ahead.
We do not know whither we are
heading, but it looks darned inter-
esting.”

“Yeah,” added Walt, “it’s a
darned rare scientific fact that
can’t be used for something, some-
where. Well, Don, now what?”

“I guess we now progress to the
office and run through a few reams
of paper-work. Then we may re-
lax.”

“O. K. Sounds good to me.
Let’s go.”

Hellion Murdoch pointed to the
luminous speck in the celestial
globe. His finger stabbed at the
marker button, and a series of faint
concentric spheres marked the dis-
tance from the center of the globe
to the object, which Murdoch read
and mentioned : “Twelve thousand
miles.”

“Asteroid?” asked Kingman.

“What else?” asked Murdoch.
“We’re lying next to the Asteroid
Belt.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Burn it,” said Murdoch. His
fingers danced upon the keyboard,
and high above him, in the dome
of the Black Widow, a power in-
take tube swiveled and pointed at
Sol. Coupled to the output of the
power intake tube, a power output
tube turned to point at the asteroid.
And Murdoch’s poised finger came
down on the last switch, closing the
final circuit.

Meters leaped tip across their
scales as the intangible beam of
solar energy came silently in and

went as silently out. It passed
across the intervening miles with
the velocity of light squared, and hit
the asteroid. A second later the
asteroid glowed and melted under
the terrific bombardment of solar
energy directed in a tight beam.

“It’s O. K„” said Hellion. “But
have the gang build us three larger
tubes to be mounted turret wise.
Then we can cope with society.”

“What do you hope to gain by
that? Surely piracy and grand lar-
ceny are not profitable in the light
of what we have and know.”

“I intend to institute a reign of
terror.”

“You mean to go through with
your plan ?”

“I am a man of my word. 1 shall
levy a tax against each and every
ship leaving any spaceport. We
shall demand one dollar solarian
for every gross ton that lifts from
any planet and reaches the plan-
etary limit.”

“How do you establish that
limit?” asked Kingman interest-
edly.

“Ironically, we’ll use the Chan-
ning Layer,” said Murdoch with
dark humor. “Since the Channing
Layer describes the boundary be-
low which our solar beam will not
work. Our reign of terror will be
identified with Channing because of
that; it will take some of the praise
out of people’s minds when they
think of Channing and Interplan-
etary Communications.”

“That’s pretty deep psychology,”
said Kingman.

“You should recognize it,” smiled
Murdoch. “That’s the kind of stuff

FIRING MNK

79

yon legal lights pull. Mention the
accused in the same sentence with
one of the honored people; mention
the defendant in the same breath
with one of the hated people — it’s
the same stunt. Build them up or
tear them down by reference.”

“You’re pretty shrewd.”

“1 am,” agreed Murdoch pla-
cidly.

“Mind telling me how you found
yourself in the fix you’re in?”

“Not at all. I’ve been interested
for years in neuro-surgery. My re-
searches passed beyond the realm of
rabbits and monkeys, and I found
it necessary to investigate the more
delicate, more organized, the higher-
strung. That means human beings
— though some of them are less
sensitive than a rabbit and less deli-
cate than a monkey.” Murdoch’s
eyes took on a cynical expression at
this. Then it passed and he con-
tinued : “I became famous, as you
know. Or do you?”

Kingman shook his head.

“I suppose not. I became fa-
mous in my own circle. Lesser
neuro-surgeons sent their complex
cases to me; unless you were com-
plex, you would never hear of Al-
lison Murdoch. Well anyway, some
of them offered exciting opportuni-
ties. I — frankly, experimented.

Some of them died. It was quite a
bit of cut and try because not too
much has been written on the finer
points of the nervous system. But
there were too few people who
were complex enough to require my
services, and I turned to clinical
work, and experimented freely.”

“And there you made your mis-
take ?”

“Do you know how ?”

“No. I imagine that with many
patients you exceeded your rights
once too often.”

“Wrong. It is a funny factor in
human relationship. Something
that makes no sense. When people
were paying me three thousand dol-
lars an hour for operations, I could
experiment without fear. Some
died, some regained their health un-
der my ministrations. But when I
experimented on charity patients, I
could not experiment because of the
‘Protection’ given the poor. The
masses were not to be guinea pigs.
Ha!” laughed Murdoch, “only the
rich are permitted to be subjects of
an experiment. Touch not the poor,
who offer nothing. Experiment
upon those of intellect, wealth,
fame, or anything that sets them
above the mob. Yes, even genius
came under my knife. But I couldn’t
give a poor man a fifty-fifty chance
at his life, when the chances of his
life were less than one in ten. From
a brilliant man, operating under
fifty-fifty chances for life, I be-
came an inhuman monster that cut
without fear. I was imprisoned,
and later escaped with some
friends.”

“And that’s when you stole the
Hippocrates and decided that the
solar system should pay you re-
venge-money ?”

“I would have done better if I
had not made that one mistake. I
forgot that in the years of imprison-
ment, I fell behind in scientific
knowledge. I know - now that no

so

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

one can establish anything at all
without technical minds behind
him.”

Kingman’s lips curled. “I
wouldn’t agree to that.”

“You should. Your last defeat
at the hands of the technicians you
scorn should have taught you a les-
son. If you had been sharp, you
would have outguessed them; out-
engineered them. They, Kingman,
were not afraid to rip into their de-
tector to see what made it tick.”
“But I had only the one — ”
“They knew one simple thing
about the universe. That rule is
that if anything works once, it may
be made to work again.” He held
up his hand as Kingman started to
speak. “You’ll bring all sorts of
cases to hand and try to disprove
me. You can’t. Oh, you couldn’t
cause a quick return of the diplo-
docus, or re-enact the founding of
the solar government, or even re-
burn a ton of coal. But there is
other carbon, there will be other
governmental introductions and re-
forms, and there may some day be
the rebirth of the dinosaur — on
some planet there may be carbonif-
erous ages now. Any phenomena
that is a true phenomena — and your
detector was definite, not a misin-
terpretation of effect — can be re-
peated. But, Kingman, we’ll not
be outengineered again.”

“That I do believe.”

“And so we will have our re-
venge on Interplanetary Communi-
cations and upon the system itself.”
“We’re heading home now?”
“Right. We want this ship fitted

with the triple turret I mentioned
before. Also I want the intercon-
necting links between the solar in-
take and the power-projectors
beefed up. When you’re passing
several hundred megawatts through
any system, losses of the nature of
.000,000,1% cause heating to a dan-
gerous degree. We’ve got to cut
the I2R losses. I gave orders that
the turret be started, by the way.
It’ll be almost ready when we re-
turn.”

“ You gave orders?” said King-
man.

“Oh yes,” said Hellion Murdoch
with a laugh. “Remember our last
bout with the stock market? I
seem to have accumulated about
forty-seven percent. That’s suffi-
cient to give me control of our
company.”

“But . . . but — ” spluttered King-
man. “That took money — ”

“I still have enough left,” said
Murdoch quietly. “After all, I
spent years in the Melanortis Coun-
try of Venus. I was working on
the Hippocrates when I wasn’t do-
ing a bit of mining. There’s a large
vein of platiniridium there. You
may answer the rest.”

“I still do not get this piracy.”
Murdoch’s eyes blazed. “That’s
my interest. That’s my revenge!
I intend to ruin Don Channing and
Venus Equilateral. With the super
turret they’ll never be able to catch
us, and we’ll run the entire system.”
Kingman considered. As a law-
yer, he was finished. His last try
at the ruination of the Venus Equi-
lateral crowd by means of pirating
the interplanetary communications

flRINO LINK

beam, well that was strictly a viola-
tion of the Communications Code.
The latter absolutely prevented any
man or group of men from divert-
ing communications not intended
for them and using these communi-
cations for their own purpose. His
defense that Venus Equilateral had
also violated the law went unheard.
It was pointed out to him that Venus
Equilateral tapped his own line, and
the tapping of an illegal line was
the act of a comfnunications agent
in the interest of the government.
He was no longer a lawyer, and in
tact he had escaped a long jail term
by sheer bribery.

He was barred from legal prac-
tice, and he was barred from any
business transactions. The stock
market could be manipulated, but
only through a blind, which was
neither profitable nor safe.

His holdings in Terran Electric
was all that stood between him and
ruin. He was no better off than
Murdoch, save that he was not
wanted.

But —

“I’m going to remain on Terra
and run Terran Electric like a model
company,” he said. “That’ll be our
base.”

“Right. Except for a bit of re-
search along specified lines, you will
do nothing. Your job will be to
act apologetic for your misdeeds.
You will grovel on the floor before
any authority, and beseech the legal
profession to accept you once more.
T will need your help, there. You
are to establish yourself in the good
graces of the Interplanetary Patent
Office and report to me any applica-
nt

tions that may be of interest. The
research that Terran Electric will
conduct will be along innocuous
lines. The real research will be
conducted in a secret laboratory.
The one in the Melanortis Country.
Selected men will work there, and
the Terran Electric fleet of cargo-
carriers will carry the material
needed. My main failure was not
to have provided a means of know-
ing what the worlds were doing.
I’ll have that now, and I shall not be
defeated again.”

“We’ll say that one together!”
said Kingman. He flipped open a
large book and set the autopilot
from a set of figures. The Black
Widow turned gently and started to
run for Terra at 2-G.

Walt Franks frowned at the
memorandum in his hand. “Look,
Don, are we ever going to get to
work on that deal with Keg John-
son ?”

“Uh-huh,” answered Don, with-
out looking up.

“He’s serious. Transplanet is
getting the edge, and he doesn’t
like it.”

“Frankly, I don’t like dabbling in
stuff like that either. But Keg’s
an old friend, and I suppose that’s
how a guy gets all glommed up on
projects, big business deals, and so
forth. We’ll be going in directly.
Why the rush?”

“A bit of personal business on
Mars which can best be done at the
same time, thus saving an addi-
tional trip.”

“O. K.,” said Don idly. “Might

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -PICT ION

as well get it over with. Can you
pack in an hour?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

Actually, it was less than an hour
before the Relay Girl went out of
the South End Landing Stage,
turned, and headed for Mars.
Packing to the Charmings was a
matter of persuading Arden not to
take everything but the drapes in
the apartment along with her, while
for Walt Franks it was a matter of
grabbing a trunkful of instruments
and spare parts. Space travel is a
matter of waiting for days in the
confines of a small bubble of steel.
Just waiting. For the scenery is
unchanging all the way from Sol to
Pluto — and is the same scenery that
can be seen from the viewports of
Venus Equilateral. Walt enjoyed
his waiting time by tinkering; hav-
ing nothing to do would have bored
him, and so he took with him
enough to keep him busy during the
trip.

At two" Terran gravities, the
velocity of the Relay Girl built up
bit by bit and mile by mile until
they were going just shy of one
thousand miles per second. This
occurred an hour before turnover,
which would take place at the
twenty-third hour of flight.

And at that time there occurred
a rarity. Not an impossibility like
the chances of collision with a me-
teor, those things happen only once
in a lifetime, and Channing had had
his collision. Nor was it as remote
as getting a royal flush on the deal.
It happened, not often, but it did
happen to some ships occasionally.

Another ship passed within de-
tector range.

The celestial globe glimmered
faintly and showed a minute point
at extreme range. Automatic
marker spheres appeared concentri-
cally within the celestial globe and
colures and diameters marked the
globe off into octants. A dim red
line appeared before the object,
giving the probable course of the
object.

Bells rang briefly, and the auto-
matic meteor circuits interpreted the
orbit of the oncoming object and
decided that the object was not dan-
gerous. Then they relaxed. Their
work was done until another ob-
ject came within range for them to
inspect. They were no longer in-
terested, and they forgot about the
object with the same powers of com-
plete oblivion that they would have
exerted on a meteor of niekle and
iron.

They were mechanically in-
capable of original thought. So the
object, to them, was harmless.

Channing looked up at the lumi-
nescent spot, sought the calibration
spheres, made a casual obesrvation,
and forgot about it. To him it was
a harmless meteor.

Even the fact that his own ve-
locity was a thousand miles per
second, and the object’s velocity
was the same, coming to them on a
one hundred and seventy degree
course and due to pass within five
thousand miles did not register.
Their total velocity of two thou-
sand miles did not register just be-
cause of that rarity with which ships
pass within detector range, while

as

FIRING GINB

meteors are encountered often.

Had Channing been thinking
about the subject in earnest, he
would have known — for it is only
man, with all too little time, who
uses such velocities. The universe,
with eternity in which to work her
miracle, seldom moves in velocities
greater than forty or fifty miles per
second.

Channing forgot it, and as the
marker-spheres switched to accom-
modate the approaching object, he
turned to more important things.

In the other ship, Hellion Mur-
doch frowned. He brightened,
then, and depressed the plunger
that energized his solar beam and
projector. He did not recognize
the oncoming object for anything
but a meteor, either, and his desire
was to find out how his invention
worked at top speeds.

Kingman asked: “Another one?”
“Uh-huh,” said Murdoch idly,
“1 want to check my finders.”

“But they can’t miss.”

“No? Look, lawyer, you’re not
running a job that may be given a
stay or a reprieve. The finders run
on light velocities. The solar beam
runs on the speed of light squared.
We’ll pass that thing at five thou-
sand miles and at two thousand ac-
cumulative miles per second. A
microsecond of misalignment, and
we’re missing, see? I think we’re
going to be forced to put correction
circuits in so that the vector sums
and velocities and distances will all
come out with a true hit. It will
not be like sighting down a search-
light beam at high velocity.”

“I see. You’ll need compensa-
tion ?”

“Plenty, at this velocity and dis-
tance. This is the first time I’ve
had a chance to try it out.”

The latter fact saved the Relay
Girl. By a mere matter of feet, and
inches ; by the difference between the
speed of light and the speed of light
squared at a distance of five thou-
sand miles, plus a slight miscom-
pensation. The intolerably hot um-
bra of Murdoch’s beam followed
below the pilot’s greenhouse of the
Relay Girl all the way past, a matter
of several seconds. The spill-over
was tangible enough to warm the
Relay Girl to uncomfortable tem-
peratures.

Then with no real damage done,
the contact with ships in space was
over, but not without a certain mini-
mum of recognition.

“Hell!” said Kingman. “That
was a space craft.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. You missed.”

“I’d rather have hit,” said Mur-
doch coldly. "I hope I missed by
plenty.”

“Why?”

“If we scorched their tails any,
there’ll be embarrassing questions
asked.”

“So— ?”

“So nothing until we’re asked.
Even then you know nothing.”

In the Relay Girl, Channing
mopped his forehead. “That was
hell itself,” he said.

Arden laughed uncertainly. “I
thought that it would wait until we

ASTOUNDING SO IE NCE-FICT ION

got there; I didn’t expect hell to
come after us.”

“What — exactly — happened?”
asked Walt, coming into the scan-
ning room.

“That — was a spaceship."

“One of this system’s?”

“I wonder,” said Don honestly.
“It makes a guy wonder. It was
gone too fast to make certain. It
probably was Solarian, but they
tried to burn us with something.”
“That makes it sound like some-
thing alien,” admitted Walt. “But
that doesn’t make good sense.”

“It makes good reading,” laughed
Channing. “Walt, you’re the Boy
Edison. Have you been tinkering
with anything of lethal leanings?”
“You think there may be some-
thing powerful afloat?”

“Could be. We don’t know every-
thing.”

“I’ve toyed with the idea of
coupling a solar intake beam with
one of those tubes that Baler and
Carroll found. Recall, they smashed
up quite a bit of Lincoln Head
before they uncovered the secret of
how to handle it. Now that we
have unlimited power — or are lim-
ited only by the losses in our own
system — we could, or should be
able to, make something rawther
tough.”

“You’ve toyed with the idea,
hey ?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Of course you haven’t really
tried it?”

“Of course not.”

“How did it work?”

“Fair,” grinned Walt. “I did it
witli miniatures only, «-ot course,

since I couldn’t get my hooks on a
full-grown tube.”

“Say,” asked Arden, “how did
you birds arrive at this idea so
suddenly? I got lost at the first
premise.”

“We passed a strange ship. We
heated up to uncomfortable tem-
peratures in a matter of nine sec-
onds flatC" They didn’t warm us
with thought waves, or vector-in-
vectives. Sheer dislike wouldn’t do
it alone. I guess that someone is
trying to do the trick started by our
esteemed Mr. Franks here a year or
so ago. Only with something prac-
tical instead of an electron beam.
Honest-to-goodness energy, right
from Sol himself, funneled through
some tricky inventions. Walt, that
experiment of yours. Did you
bring it along?”

Walt looked downcast. “No,”
he said. “It was another one.”
“Let’s see.”

“It’s not too good — ”

“Same idea?”

Walt went to get his experiment.
He returned with a tray full of
laboratory glassware, all wired into
a maze of electronic equipment.

Channing went white. “You,
too?” he yelled. .

“Take it easy, sport. This
charges only to a hundred volts.
We get thirteen hundred micro-
farads at one hundred volts. Then
we drain off the dielectric fluid, and
get one billion three hundred million
volts charge in a condenser of only
one hundred micro-microfarads-
It’s an idea for the nuclear physics
boys. I think it may tend to so-
lidify some of the uncontrollables

PIKING LINE

85

in the present system of developing
high electron velocities.”

“That thirteen million dielectric
constant stuff is strictly electro-
dynamite, I think,” said Charming.
“Farrell may have developed it as
a by-product, but I have a hunch
that it will replace some heretofore
valuable equipment. The Franks-
Farrell generator will outdo Van-
Der Graf’s little job, I think.”
“Franks-Farrell ?”

“Sure. Fie thunk up the dielec-
tric. You thunk up the applica-
tion. Fie won’t care, and you
couldn’t have done it without. Fol-
low?”

“Oh sure. I was just trying to
figure out a more generic term for
it.”

“Don’t. Let it go as is for now.
It’s slick, Walt, but there’s no
weapon in it.”

"You're looking for a weapon?”
“Uh-huh. Ever since Murdoch
took a swing at Venus Equilateral,
I’ve been sort of wishing that we
could concoct something big enough
and dangerous enough to keep us
free from any other wiseacres. Re-
member, we stand out there like a
sore thumb. We are as vulnerable
as a half pound of butter at a ban-
quet for starving Armenians. The
next screwball that wants to control
the system will have to control
Venus Equilateral first. And the
best things we can concoct to date
include projectile-tossing guns at
velocities of less than the speed of
our ships, and an electron-shooter
that can be overcome by coating the
ship with any of the metal-salts that
enhance secondary emission.”

“Remind me to requisition a set
of full-sized tubes when we return.
Might as well have some fun.”

“O. K., you can have ’em. Which
brings us back to the present. Ques-
tion: Was that an abortive attempt
upon our ship*1 or was that a mis-
taken try at melting a meteor?”

“I know how to find out. Let’s
call Charley Thomas and have him
get on the rails. We can have him
request Terran Electric to give us
any information they may have on
energy beams to date.”

“They’d tell you?” scorned Ar-
den.

“If they write no!, and we find
out that they did, we’ll sue ’em
dead. They’re too shaky to try
anything deep right now.”

“Going to make it an official re-
quest, hey?”

“Right. From the Station, it’ll
go out in print, and their answer
will be on the ’type, too, since busi-
ness etiquette requires it. They’ll
get the implication if they’re on the
losing end. That’ll make ’em try
something slick. If they’re honest,
they’ll tell all.”

“That’ll do it all right,” said
Walt. “They’re too shaky to buck
us any more. And if they are try-
ing anything, it’ll show.”

The rest of the trip was without
incident. They put in at Canalopsis
and found Keg Johnson with an of-
ficial ’gram waiting for them. Don
Channing ripped it open and read :

Interplanetary Communications
Attention Dr. Channing:

No project for energy beam capable of
removing meteors under way at Terran

ea

-Astounding science-fiction

Electric, or at any of the subsidiary com-
panies. Ideas suggested along these lines
have been disproven by your abortive at-
tempt of a year ago, and will not be con-
sidered unless theory is substantiated in
every way by practical evidence.

If you are interested, we will delve
into the subject from all angles. Please
advise.

Terran Electric Co.

Board of Legal Operations

Mark Kingman, LLD.

Channing smiled wryly at Keg
Johnson and told him of their trou-
ble.

“Oh?” said Keg, with a frown.
“Then you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Hellion Murdoch has been on
the lose for weeks.”

“Weeks!” yelled Channing.

“Uh-huh. He feigned gangrene,
was taken to the base hospital where
he raised hob in his own, inimitable
way. He blasted the communica-
tions set-up completely, ruined three
spaceships, and made off with the
fourth. The contact ship just
touched there recently and found
hell brewing. If they hadn’t had a
load of. supplies and prisoners for
the place, they wouldn’t have known
about it for months, perhaps.”

“So! Brother Murdoch is loose
again. Well! The story dovetails
in nicely.”

“You think that was Hellion him-
self?”

“I’d bet money on it. The official
report on Hellion Murdoch said
that he was suffering from a very
silght peresecution complex, and
that he was capable of making
something of it if he got the chance.

He’s slightly whacky, and danger-
ously so.”

“He’s a brilliant man, isn’t he?”
“Quite. His name is well known
in the circles of neuro-surgery. He
is also known to be an excellent re-
search worker in applied physics.”
“Nuts, hey?” asked Walt.

“Yeah, he’s nuts. But only in
one way, Walt. He’s nuts to think
that he is smarter than the entire
solar system all put together. Well,
what do we do now?”

“Butter ourselves well and start
scratching for the answer. That
betatron trick will not work twice.
There must be something.”

“O. K, Walt. We’ll all help you
think. I’m wondering how much
research he had to do to develop
that beam. After all, we were five
thousand miles away, and he heated
us up. He must’ve thought we were
a meteor — and another thing, too —
he must’ve thought that his beam
was capable of doing something at
five thousand miles distance or he
wouldn’t have tried. Ergo he must
have beaten that two hundred mile,
bugaboo.”

“We don’t know that the two
hundred mile bugaboo is still bug-
ging in space,” said Walt, slowly.
“That’s set up so that the ioniza-
tion-by-products are not dangerous.
Also, he’s not transmitting power
from station to station, et cetera.
He’s ramming power into some sort
of beam and to the devil with losses
external to his equipment. The
trouble is, darn it, that we’ll have to
spend a month just building a large
copy of my miniature set-up.”

“A month is not too much time,”

FIRING LINK

87

agreed Charming. “And Murdoch
will take a swing at us as soon as he
gets ready to reach. We can have
Charley start building the big tubes
immediately, can’t we?”

“Just one will be needed. We’ll
use one of the standard solar in-
take tubes that we’re running the
Station from. There’s spare equip-
ment aplenty. But the transmitter-
terminal tube will take some build-
ing.”

“Can we buy one from Terran
Electric?”

“Why not? Get the highest rat-
ing we can. That should be plenty.
Terran probably has them in stock,
and it’ll save us building one.”
“What is their highest rating ?”
“Two hundred megawatts.”

“O. K. I’ll send ’em a coded
requisition with my answer to their
letter.”

“What are you going to tell ’em ?”
“Tell ’em not to investigate the
energy-gun idea unless they want
to for their own reasons,” Chan-
ning grinned. “They’ll probably as-
sume— and correctly — that we’re
going to tinker ourselves.”

“And?”

“Will do nothing since it is an
extra-planetary proposition. Un-
less it becomes suitable for digging
tunnels, or melting the Martian ice
cap,” laughed Channing.

Mark Kingman took the'letter to
Murdoch, who was hidden in the
depths of the Black Widow. Hel-
lion read it twice, and then
growled.

“They smell something, sure,” he
snarled. “Why didn’t we make

s*.

that a perfect hit!”

“What are we going to do now ?”
“Step up our plans. They’ll have
this thing in a few weeks. Hm-m-m.
They order a transmitter terminal
tube. Have you got any in stock?”
“Naturally. Not in stock, but
available for the Northern Landing
power-line order.”

“You have none, then. You will
have some available within a few
days. That half -promise will stall
them from making their own, and
every day that they wait for your
shipment is a day in our favor. To
keep your own nose clean, I’ll tell
you when to ship the tube. It’ll be
a few days before I strike.”

“Why bother?” asked Kingman.
“They won’t be around to call
names.”

“No, but their friends will, and
we want to keep them guessing.”

“I see. Those tubes are huge
enough to excite comment, and
there will be squibs in all the papers
telling of the giant going to Venus
Equilateral, and the Sunday Sup-
plements will all break out in wild
guesses as to the reason why Venus
Equilateral wants a two-hundred
megawatt tube. Too bad you
couldn’t keep your escape a longer
secret.”

“I suppose so. But it was bound
to be out sooner or later anyway.
A good general, Kingman, is one
whose plans may be changed on a
moment’s notice without sacrificing.
We’ll win through.”

The days wore on, and the big
turret on the top of the Black
Widow took shape. The super-
tubes were installed, and Murdoch

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

worked in the bowels of the ship to
increase the effectiveness of the
course-integrators to accommodate
high velocities and to correct for
the minute discrepancies that would
crop up due to the difference in ve-
locities between light and sub-elec-
tronic radiation.

And on Venus Equilateral, the
, losing end of a war of nerves was
taking place. The correspondence
by 'type was growing into a reason-
able pile, while the telephone con-
versations between Ter ran Electric
and Venus Equilateral became a
daily proposition. The big tubes
were not finished. The big tubes

were finished, but rejects because
of electrode-misalignments. The
big tubes were in the rework de-
partment. The big tubes were on
Luna for their testing. And again
they were rejects because the maxi-
mum power requirements were not
met. They were returned to Evan-
ston and were once more in the
rework department. You have no
idea how difficult the manufacture
of two hundred megawatt tubes
really is.

So the days passed, and no tubes
were available. The date passed
which marked the mythical date of
‘if’ — If Venus Equilateral had

FIRING LINE

89

started tlicir own manufacturing di-
vision on the day they were first
ordered from Terran Electric, they
would have been finished and avail-
able.

Then, one day, word was passed
along that the big tubes were
shipped. They were on their way,
tested and approved, and would be
at Venus Equilateral within two
days. In the due course of time,
they arrived, and the gang at the
Relay Station went to work on
them.

But Walt Franks shook his head.
"Don, we’ll be caught like a sitting
rabbit.”

“I know. But — ?” answered
Channing.

There was no answer to that
question, and so they went to work
again.

The news of Murdoch’s first blow
came that same day. It was a news
report from the Interplanetary Net-
work that the Titan Penal Colony
had been attacked by a huge black
ship of space that carried a huge
dome-shaped turret on the top.
Beams of invisible energy burned
furrows in the frozen ground, and
the official buildings melted and ex-
ploded from the air pressure within
them. The Titan station went off
the ether with a roar, and the theo-
rists believed that Murdoch’s gang
had been augmented by four hun-
dred and nineteen of the Solar Sys-
tem’s most vicious criminals.

“That rips it wide open,” said
Channing. “Better get the folks to
prepare to withstand a siege. I
don’t -think they can take us.”

“That devil might turn his beams

on the Station itself, though,” said
Walt.

“He wants to control communica-
tions.”

“With the sub-electron beams we
now have, he could do it on far less
Station for some time. Not per-
fectly, but he’d get along.”

“Fine future,” gritted Channing.
“This is a good time to let this
project coast, Walt. We’ve got to
start in from the beginning and
walk down another track.”

“It’s easy to say, chum.”

“I know it. So far, all we’ve been
able to do is to take energy from
the solar intake beams and spray it
out into space. It goes like the ar-
row that went — we know not
where.”

“So?”

“Forget these gadgets. Have
Charley hook up the solar intake
tubes to the spotter and replace the
cathodes with pure thorium. I’ve
got another idea.”

“O. *K., but it sounds foolish to
me.”

Channing laughed. “We‘ll stale-
mate him,” he said bitterly, and ex-
plained to Walt. “I wonder when
Murdoch will come this way?”

“It’s but a matter of time,” said
W’alt. “My bet is as soon as he can
get here with that batch of fresh
rats he’s collected.”

Walt’s bet would have collected.
Two days later, Hellion Murdoch
flashed a signal into Venus Equi-
lateral and asked for Channing.

“Hello, Hellion,” answered Chan-
ning. “Haven’t you learned to keep
out of our way?”

#o

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

worked in the bowels of the ship to
increase the effectiveness of the
course-integrators to accommodate
high velocities and to correct for
the minute discrepancies that would
crop up due to the difference in ve-
locities between light and sub-elec-
tronic radiation.

And on Venus Equilateral, the
losing end of a war of nerves was
taking place. The correspondence
by ’type was growing into a reason-
able pile, while the telephone con-
versations between Terran Electric
and Venus Equilateral became a
daily proposition. The big tubes
were not finished. The big tubes

were finished, but rejects because
of electrode-misalignments. The
big tubes were in the rework de-
partment. The big tubes were on
Luna for their testing. And again
they were rejects because the maxi-
mum power requirements were not
met. They were returned to Evan-
ston and were once more in the
rework department. You have no
idea how difficult the manufacture
of two hundred megawatt tubes
really is.

So the days passed, and no tubes
were available. The date passed
which marked the mythical date of
‘if’ — If Venus Equilateral had

89

FIRING LINE

fort along another line.”

“That’s not all— ?”

“No. Frankly, I’m almost certain
that your beam won’t do a thing to
Venus Equilateral.”

“We’ll see. Listen ! Turretman !
Are you ready?”

Faintly, the reply came, and
Channing could hear it. “Ready!”
“Then fire all three. Pick your
targets at will. One blast!”

The lights in Venus Equilateral
brightened. The thousands of line-
voltage meters went from one hun-
dred and twenty-five to one hun-
dred and forty volts, and the
line-frequency struggled with the
crystal-control and succeeded in
making a ragged increase from sixty
to sixty point one five cycles per sec-
ond. The power-output meters on
the transmitting equipment went up
briefly, and in the few remaining
battery-supply rooms, the overload
and overcharge alarms clanged until
the automatic adjusters justified the
input against the constant load. One
of the ten-kilowatt modulator tubes
•flashed over in the audio-room and
was immediately cut from the op-
erating circuit; the recording met-
ers indicated that the tube had gone
west forty-seven hours prior to its
expiration date due to filament over-
load. A series of fluorescent lighting
fixtures in a corridor of the Station
that should have been dark because
of the working hours of that section,
flickered into life and woke sev-
eral of the workers, and down in
the laboratory, Wes Farrell swore
because the fluctuating line had dis-
rupted one of his experiments, giv-
ing him reason to doubt the result.

92

He tore the thing down and began
once more; seventy days work had
been ruined.

“Well,” said Channing cockily,
“is that the best you can do?”
“You— !”

“You forgot,” reminded Chan-
ning, “that we have been working
with solar power, too. In fact, we
discovered the means to get it. Go
ahead and shoot at us, -Murdoch.
You’re just giving us more power.”
“Cease firing!” exploded Mur-
doch.

“Oh don’t !” cheered Don. “You
forgot that those tubes, if aligned
properly, will actually cause bend-
ing of the energy-beam. We’ve got
load-terminal tubes pointing at you,
and your power-beam is bending to
enter them. You did well, though.
You were running the whole Sta-
tion with plenty to spare. We had
to squirt some excess into space.
Your beams aren’t worth the glass
that’s in them !”

“Stalemate, then,” snarled Mur-
doch. “Now you come and get us.
We’ll leave. But we’ll be back.
Meanwhile, we can have our way
with the shipping. Pilot ! Course for
Mars! Start when ready!”

The Black Widow turned and
streaked from Venus Equilateral
as Don Channing mopped his fore-
head. “Walt,” he said, “that’s once
I was scared to death.”

“Me, too. Well, we got a respite.
Now what?”

“We start thinking.”

“Right. But of what?”

“Ways and — Hello, Wes.
What’s the matter?”

ASTOUNDING SO IITNCE-FICT I ON

Farrell entered and said: “They
broke up my job. I had to set it
up again, and I’m temporarily free.
Anything I can do to help?”

“Can you dream up a space-
gun ?”

Farrell laughed. “That’s prob-
lematical. Energy guns are some-
thing strange. Their output can be
trapped and used to good advan-
tage. What you need is some sort
of projectile, I think.”

“But what kind of projectile
would do damage to a spaceship?”
“Obviously the normal kinds are
useless. Fragmentation shells
would pelt the exterior of the ship
with metallic rain — if and providing
you could get them that close. Ar-
inor-pierCing would work, possibly,
but their damage would be negli-
gible since hitting a spacecraft with
a shell is impossible if the ship is
moving at anything like the usual
velocities. Detonation shells are a
waste of energy, since there is no
atmosphere to expand and cantract.
They’d blossom like roses and do
as much damage as a tossed rose.”
“No projectiles, then.”

“If you could build a super-heavy
fragmentation and detonation shell
and combine it with armor-piercing
qualities, and could hit the ship, you
might be able to stop ’em. You’d
have to pierce the ship, and have
the thing explode with a terrific
blast. It would crack the ship be-
cause of the atmosphere trapped in
the hull — and should be fast enough
to exceed the compressibility of air.
Also it should happen so fast that
the air leaving the hole made would
not have a chance to decrease the

pressure. The detonation would
crack the ship, and the fragmenta-
tion would mess up the insides to
boot, giving two possibilities. But
if both failed and the ship became
airless, they would fear no more
detonation shells. Fragments would
always be dangerous, however.”
“So now we must devise some
sort of shell — ?”

“More than that. The meteor-
circuits would intercept the incom-
ing shell and it would never get
there. What you’d need is a series
of shells — say a hundred, all emit-
ting the meteor-alarm primary sig-
nals, which would cause paralysis of
the meteor-circuits. Then the big
one, coming in at terrific velocity.”
"And speaking of velocity,” said
Walt Franks. “The projectile and
the rifle are out. We can get bet-
ter velocity with a constant-accel-
eration drive. I say torpedoes !”
“Naturally. But the aiming?
Remember, even though we crank
up the drive to 50-G, it takes time
to get to several thousand miles per
second. The integration of a course
would be hard enough, but add to
it the desire of men to evade tor-
pedoes— and the aiming job is im-
possible.”

“We may be able to aim them
with a device similar to the one
Charley Thomas is working with.
Murdoch said his hull was made
of lithium?”

“Coated with,” said Channing
“Well. Set the alloy-selectivity
disk to pure lithium, and use the
output to stear the torpedo right
down to the bitter end.”

FIRING LINE

93

"Fine. Now the armor-piercing
qualities.”

"Can we drill?”

"Nope. At those velocities, im-
pact would cause detonation, the
combined velocities would look like
a detonation wave to the explosive.
After all, darned few explosives can
stand shock waves that propagate
through them at a few thousand
miles per second.”

"O.K. How do we drill?”

"We might drill electrically,”
suggested Farrell. “Put a beam in
front?”

"Not a chance,” grinned Chan-
ning. “The next time we meet up
with Hellion Murdoch, he’ll have
absorbers ready for use. We
taught him that one, and Murdoch
is not slow to learn.”

“So how do we drill?”

"Wes, is that non-arcing alloy
of yours very conductive?”

"Slightly better than aluminum.”
"Then I’ve got it! We mount
two electrodes of the -non-arcing
alloy in front. Make ’em heavy
and of monstrous current-carrying
capacity. Then we connect them
to a condenser made of Farrell’s
super-dooper dielectric.”

"You bet,” said Walt, grinning.
"We put a ten microfarad conden-
ser in front, only it’ll be one hun-
dred and thirty farads when we soak
it in Farrell’s super-dielectric. We
charge it to ten thousand volts, and
let it go.”

“We’ve got a few experimental
jobs,” said Channing. "Those in-
erts. The drones we were using
for. experimental purposes. They
were radio controlled, and can be

94

easily converted to. the aiming-cir-'
cuits.”

"Explosives ?”

"We’ll get the chemistry boys to
brew a batch.”

“Hm-m-m. Remind me to quit
Saturday,” said Walt. “I wonder
how a ten farad condenser would
drive one of those miniatures.”

“Pretty well, I should imagine.
Why?”

"Why not mount one of the
miniatures on a gunstock and put
a ten farad condenser in the han-
dle? Make a nice side arm.”

"Good for one shot, and not per-
manently charged. You’d have to
cut your leakage down plenty.”

“Could be. Well, we’ll work on
that one afterwards. Let’s get that
drone fixed.”

"Let’s fix up all the drones we
have. And we’ll have the boys wire
up as many as they can of the little
message-cannisters. The whole
works go at once at the same accel-
eration, with the little ones run-
ning interference for the big boy.”

“Murdoch invited us to ‘come
and get him,’ ” said Channing in a
hard voice. “That, I think we’ll
do!”

Four smoldering derelicts lay in
absolute wreckage on or near the
four great spaceports of the solar
system. Shipping was at an un-
equaled standstill, and the commu-
nications beams were loaded with
argument and recriminations and
pleas as needed material did not
arrive as per agreement. Three
ships paid out one dollar each gross
ton in order to take vital mer-

ASTOOJiDING SCIRN CE-FI CTI ON

chandise to needy parties, but the
mine-run of shipping was unable to
justify the terrific, cost.

And then Don Channing had a
long talk with Keg Johnson of In-
terplanetary Transport.

One day later, one of Interplanet-
ary’s larger ships took off from
Canalopsis without having paid
tribute to Murdoch. It went free —
completely automatic — into the
Martian sky and right into Mur-
doch’s hands. The pirate gunned
it into a molten mass and hurled
his demands at the system once
more, and left for Venus since an-
other ship would be taking off from
there.

In the Relay Girl, Don Channing
smiled. “That finds Murdoch,” he
told Walt. “He’s on the standard
course for Venus from Mars.”

“Bright thinking,” commented
Walt. “Bait him on Mars and then
offer him a bite at Venus. When’ll
we catch him?”

“He’s running, or will be, at
about 3-G, I guess. We're roaring
along at five and will pass Mars at
better than four thousand miles per
second. I think we’ll catch and pass
the Black Widow at the quarter-
point, and Murdoch will be going at
about nine hundred miles per.
We’ll zoom past, and set the finder
on him, and then continue until
we’re safely away. If he gets
tough, we’ll absorb his output,
though he’s stepped it up to the
point where a spacecraft can’t take
too much concentrated input.”

“That’s how he’s been able to
blast those who went out with ab-
sorbers ?”

“Right, The stuff on the Sta-
tion was adequate to protect, but
an ordinary ship couldn’t handle it
unless the ship were designed to
absorb and dissipate that energy.
The beam-tubes would occupy the
entire ship, leaving no place for
cargo. Result: A toss-up between
paying off and not carrying enough
to make up the difference.”

“This is Freddy,” spoke the com-
municator. “The celestial globe
has just come up with a target at
eight hundred thousand miles.”

“O. K., Freddy. That must be
the Black Widow. How’ll we pass
her?”

“About thirty thousand miles.”
“Then get the finders set on that
lithium-coated hull as we pass.”
“Hold it,” said Walt. “Our
velocity with respect to his is about
three thousand. We can be certain
of the ship by checking the finder-
response on the lithium coating. If
so, she’s the Black Widow. Right
from here, we can be assured. Jim !
Check the finders in the torpedoes
on that target!”

“Did,” said Jim. “They’re on
and it is.”

“Launch ’em all!” yelled Franks.
“Are you nuts ?” asked Chan-
ning.

“Why give him a chance to guess
what’s happening? Launch ’em!”
“Freddy, drop two of the tor-
pedoes and half of the interferers.
Send ’em out at 10-G. We’ll not
put all our eggs in one basket,”
Channing said to Walt. “There
might be a slip-up.”

“It’ll sort of spoil the effect,”

FIRING LINE

#5

said Don. “But we’re not here for
effect.”

“What effect?”

“That explosive will be as useless
as a slab of soap,” said Don. “Ex-
plosive depends for its action upon
velocity — brother, there ain’t no ex-
plosive built that will propagate at
the velocity of our torpedo against
Murdoch.”

“I know,” said Franks, smiling.

“Shall I yell ‘Bombs away’ in a
dramatic voice?” asked Freddy
Thomas.

“Are they?”

“Yup.”

“Then yell,” grinned Walt.
“Look, Don, this should be pretty.
Let’s hike to the star-camera above
and watch. We can use the double-
telescope finder and take pix, too.”

“It’s won’t be long,” said Chan-
ning grimly. “And we’ll be safe
since the interferers will keep Mur-
doch’s gadget so busy he won’t have
time to worry us. Let’s go.”

The sky above became filled with
a myriad of flashing spots as the
rapidly-working meteor spotters
coupled to the big turret and began
to punch at the interferers.

The clangor of the alarm made
Murdoch curse. He looked at the
celestial globe and his heart knew
real fear for the first time. This
was no meteor shower, he knew
from the random pattern. Some-
thing was after him, and Murdoch
knew who and what it was. He
cursed Channing and Venus Equi-
lateral in a loud voice.

It did no good, that cursing.
Above his head, the triply mounted

96

turret danced back and forth, free-
ing a triple-needle of Sol’s energy.
At each pause another interferer
went out in a blaze of fire and a
shock-excitation of radio energy
that blocked, temporarily, the finder
circuits. And as the turret de-
troyed the little dancing motes, more
came speeding into range to replace
them, ten to one.

And then it happened. The
finder-circuit fell into mechanical
indecision as two interferers came
at angles, each with the same inten-
sity. The integrators ground to-
gether, and the forces they loosed
struggled for control.

Beset by opposing impulses, the
amplidyne in the turret stuttered,
smoked, and then went out in a
pungent stream of yellowish smoke
that poured from its dust-cover in
a high-velocity stream. The danc-
ing of the turret stopped, and the
flashing motes in the sky stopped
with the turret’s death.

One hundred and thirty farads,
charged to ten thousand volts,
touched the lithium-coated, alumi-
num side of Murdoch’s Black
Widow. Thirteen billion joules of
electrical energy ; thirty-six hundred
kilowatt hours went against two
inches of aluminum. At the three
thousand miles per second relative
velocity of the torpedo, contact was
immediate and perfect. The alu-
minum hull vaporized under the
million upon million of kilovolt-am-
peres the discharge. The vapor-
ized hull tried to explode, but was
hit by the unthinkable velocity of
the torpedo’s warhead.

The torpedo itself crushed in

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

front. It mushroomed under the
millions of degrees Kelvin devel-
oped by the energy-release caused
by the cessation of velocity. For
the atmosphere within the Black
Widow was as immobile and as hard
as tungsten steel at its best.

The very molecules themselves
could not move fast enough. They
crushed together and in compress-
ing brought incandescence.

The energy of the incoming tor-
pedo raced through the Black
Widow in a velocity wave that
blasted the ship itself into incan-
descence. In a steep wave-front,
the vaporized ship exploded in space
like a supernova.

It blinded the eyes of those who
watched. It overexposed the cam-
era film and the expected pictures
came out with one single frame a
pure, seared black. The piffling,
comparatively ladylike detonation of
the System’s best and most terrible
explosive was completely covered
in the blast.

Seconds later, the Relay Girl
hurtled through the sky three thou-
sand miles to one side of the blast.
The driven gases caught the Girl

and stove in the upper observation
dome like an eggshell. The Relay
Girl strained at her girders, and
sprung leaks all through the rigid
ship, and after rescuing Don Chan-
ning and Walt Franks from the
wreckage of the observation dome,
the men spent their time welding
cracks until the Relay Girl landed.

It was Walt who put his finger
on the trouble. “That was period
for Murdoch,” he said. “But Don,
the stooge still runs loose. We’re
going to be forced to take over
Mark Kingman before we’re a foot
taller. He includes Terran Electric,
you know. That’s where Murdoch
got his machine work done.”

“Without Murdoch, Kingman is
fairly harmless,” said Don, object-
ing. “We’ll have no more trouble
from him.”

“You’re a sucker, Don. King-
man will still be after your scalp.
You mark my words.”

“Well, what are you going to do
about it?”

“Nothing for the present. I’ve
got some unfinished business to at-
tend to at Lincoln Head. Mind?”

THE END.

V1BINO LINE

87

IN TIMES TO COME

Next month will, of course, bring part two of “Nomad.” This yarn, by the way, is
an unusual set-up, more like the usual course of life than the average story in one
respect. Generally speaking, a dimwit who starts out to be a hero winds up cither
dead, or by getting somebody else to be a hero — the man that rescues the would-be
hero under impossible circumstances. The infantryman who comes back to our lines
with fifty or so prisoners, six machine-gun nests wiped out, and details on the location
of four enemy artillery batteries is usually some guy that was sent on a mission, and
got captured. From that point on, a remorseless sequence of reactions and events
forced him to — for his life — argue his captors into surrendering, get rid of the opposi-
tion between him and home-line safety, and take darned careful note of the location of
powerful opposition so he could avoid it.

So we start with Guy Maynard — hero. He’s been kidnaped, knocked down,
kicked out, and forced back to Earth. He had to; now he has to —

Van Vogt’s back next month, with the cover story “The Mixed Men.” A sequel
to the series that started with “Concealment” and “The Storm.” As a matter of fact,
the line-up proposed for next issue and the next will include nearly all the regular
favorites, plus a pair of new names — Robert Abernathy and A. Bertram Chandler.

* The Editor.

THE ANALYTICAL LABORATORY

The September reports have interested me in several ways. First, I want to thank
the larger number of readers who sent in their votes this time; I can’t answer all
letters, naturally, though I try to get at as many as possible. The Lab is, naturally,
impossible without your support — and it works two ways. The relative ratings of
stories in a given issue is readily calculated on a fairly scientific, statistical basis,
and appears on these pages. It’s a darned sight harder, though, to get the compara-
tive ratings on the best story in the September issue with respect to the stories that
appeared in the June issue, for instance. One way that does give me a slight guide,
at least, is the total number of letters received. There were a lot more letters on
tlie September issue, than on the August issue, for instance. From which I conclude
that the September issue was better liked as a whole, and that, therefore, “A Can of
Paint” in September was actually better liked than “Juggernaut.”

September is also interesting in that, with a very large number of votes on hand,
with a wide scattering of choice, three stories made a dead-heat tie for 13 place.

Place

SEPTEMBER ISSUE:
Story

Author

Points

1.

Renaissance

Raymond F. Jones

1.5S

2.

Census

Clifford D. Simak

2.35

3.

Tied:

Culture

Jerry Shelton

3.35

A Can of Paint

A. E. van Vogt

3.35

Hobo God

Malcolm Jameson

3.35

4.

Business of Killing

Fritz Lciber, Jr.

4.51

Place

AUGUST ISSUE:
Story

Author

Points

1.

Renaissance

Raymond F. Jones

1.70

2.

The Big and the Little

Isaac Asimov

2.30

3.

Juggernaut

A. E. van Vogt

2.85

4.

Bridgehead

Frank B. Long

3.00

Finally, Probability Zero went as screwy as any of its own yarns. You see,
Jerry Shelton’s Brass Taeks letter about how to cut vacuums to fit, proceeded to take
first prize in Probability Zero — in which it wasn't entered. I feel that anybody who
can win the race for First Class Liar without even trying obviously deserves the
prize. That brings “Icicle Built for Groo,” by John H. Pomeroy ten dollars, and
“A Matter of Relativity,” by P. Anderson five dollars. . -paE gnlT0R

98

ASTOUNDING SCI ENOE - FICTI ON)

Herewith Astounding presents
the results of a photographic ex-
periment in spaceflight. Admit-
tedly, the results were somewhat
disappointing, but they were highly
interesting and suggest that, with'
better apparatus available, some ex-
tremely useful investigations could
be made.

The essence of the experiment is
outlined in the drawings above.
The Moon is a sphere ; when a tele-
scoj)e takes a photograph of its sur-
face, the spherical lunar surface is
very accurately projected onto a
plane surface — the surface of the
photographic plate. It is perfectly
possible to reverse that purely op-
tical process, and project that plane-
image onto a white sphere, produc-

ing a sphere-image duplicate. This
sphere-image will he three-dimen-
sional ; it will be an accurate — in
most essentials — reproduction of the
original, in its correct relationship.
It can. therefore, he photographed
from new angles, making it possible
to view lunar features from direc-
tions never seen by man.

Old hands at lunar observation
will undoubtedly be shocked, con-
fused and disturbed by the prints
on pages 99 and 101 in particular.
The whole layout of the Moon’s
face is twisted, distorted almost out

The Moon— seen from a point about
100.000' miles north of Earth, and
halfway out to the Moon’s orbit.

A.sTor N'iuni; scibnck-fictiox

< •

The region around Plato and the Great Galley, in the northern hemi-
sphere, seen from a point overhead. (1.) Plato. (2.) The Great Galley.

of recognition. Each of these shots
represents a viewpoint more than
one hundred thousand miles out in
space — a viewpoint no man has yet
attained. The shots on 102 and
103 are less familiar, since they are
great enlargements of certain small
aspects of the lunar surface. The
picture on 102 was taken from a
spaceship passing almost directly
above the Great Valley and Plato;
that on 103 is taken from a view-
point almost directly above Clavius
and Schiller, far to the south.

These photographs are not satis-
factory ; they were the best we
could arrange in New York City at
this time. We were limited by

10:!

purely optical considerations, largely-
based on the fact that no really
large, pure-white sphere was avail-
able. A few years back, with a lit-
tle co-operation from the World’s
Fair committee, we might have done
a really good job, using the Peri-
sphere as our projection screen on a
dark night.

Briefly, the problem is this : The
photographic plates were made by
focusing a sixty-inch or one-hun-
dred-inch telescope on the two-thou-
sand-mile-diameter moon. The
smallest feature1 recorded was sev-
eral hundred times sixty inches
across. The ratio of diameter of
lens to diameter of object was prac-

A s t o r x i > i x ( ; seiiixe k k i < ■ t i o n

tically one to infinity ; the telescope
lens constitutes a point.

But in projecting the photo-
graphic plate so obtained onto a
white sphere of a few feet diameter,
we are working with something a
long, long way from effective-point-
size. Even with the projector lens

stopped down to its smallest open-
ing, the lens diameter is greater than
the diameter of some of the objects
to be shown — then lens diameter
is great enough to “look around”
the edge of our ersatz moon. If
the lens has an effective diameter of
a quarter of an inch, there will be
( Continued an page 178)

The region of Clavius and Schiller, far to the south of the Moon. Schiller
looks oval on ordinary shots of the Moon; this viewpoit shows it is
oval, probably due to a low-angle impact. (1.) Clavius. (2.) Schiller.

•&> the$t

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GREAT VALL

OOll

Mysteries

by WILLY LEY

The Moon ns a whole is not so mysterious as it once was — and some
of its features are being explained now. Even the craters — which
you can duplicate beautifully ’ and simply in your own basement!

Astronomic omnia divisa est in
fortes tres —

.One of these three parts, or dis-
ciplines, is quite recent ; it is long-
distance stellar astronomy, dealing
with other suns and other galaxies
and relying for its raw material
mainly on evidence furnished by the
spectroscope -and the photographic
camera. Because of its recent age
we may call it the third of the three

Fig. 1. Aerial photographers like
dawn light, because shadows bring
out details; noon light hides them.
For lunar details, full moon is noon-
light; half -moon view shows more.

disciplines.

The other two deal with things
closer to home and here the distinc-
tion is not one of distance and of
instruments employed, but one of
subject matter. One discipline deals
with movements, the other with con-
stitution, topography, et cetera. The
one is enormously exact, predicting
eclipses, occultations and positions
down to minutes and seconds —
what meteorologist would even dare
to predict even the date of the next
thunderstorm? — while the other is,
politely speaking, not so exact. Bar-
ring the Moon no other large body
of our solar system ever comes as

MOON MYSTKitlKS

105

Fig. 2. The astronomer Flammarion pictured the Lunar landscape as a
twisted, volcanic area; the true nature of the craters was not known.

106

ASTOUNDING SC I K N C E - F I OT I O N

Fig. 3. The model for Flamnwr inn’s Lunar landscape, shown in Astro-
nomic Populairc, were these extinct volcanoes in the Auvergne, in France.

close to Earth as Venus. We know
precisely where Venus will be at
any given day and hour, wre know
her weight and size — but we are not
even sure about the position of her
axis and in any three astronomical
books you can find five different
opinions about the surface condi-
tions on Venus. As for the Moon
which is still closer . . . but we’ll
speak about that later.

— divisa est in partes tres, but
the three parts evidently failed to

attain equal degrees of perfection.
It is a question of instruments and
because of that you are perfectly
justified to read a different but
equally true Sense into that classic
quotation. You can say that the
story of astronomical science con-
sists of three strictly distinct eras,
marked by the inventions of as-
tronomical instruments.

The first and earliest era of as-
tronomy is that which began in
Babylonic times and continued until

MOON MYSTEHIES

107

Courtesy: Transcontinental and Western Air

Fig. 4. If it zvere not for the plane in the foreground — or if the plane
had neither wings nor empennage — you could claim this picture of Meteor
Crater, Arizona was simply a minor meteor crater, somewhere on the Moon.

Jan Lippershey in the Netherlands
invented the telescope during that
stormy portion of human history
which is called the Renaissance.
That first long era of at least thirty
centuries was the era of naked eye
observation with no other instru-
ments than some sighting devices
for measuring angles and angular
distances. During that era astron-
omy had only one discipline, the
one dealing with the motion of the
planets. All through that era the
astronomer with the better eyes
was the better astronomer. That
rule had no exception until the very
end of the first astronomical era.

Curiously enough the one big and
important exception was Johannes
Kepler, the man who established
the true shape of planetary orbits
and the three laws of planetary
motion named after him.

The invention of the telescope
coincided with the climax of Kep-
ler’s work. That work was still
based on naked eye observations —
mostly Tycho Brahe’s — and then
the telescope opened, literally, new
vistas. The second era of astron-
omy was born and with it the sec-
ond discipline, that dealing with the
topography and the conditions on
the planets. Kepler, who for many

A K T O V N D l N G SCIKXC K - F I C T HI N

108

years had been writing a book
about the Moon, finally saw with bis
own eyes what even the “best” as-
tronomers before him bad not been
able to see: the circular ringwalls
of our satellite, the so-called
“craters.” He saw the mountains
whicli were later called the Lunar
Alps, the Lunar Apennines and
so on, he saw the dark and strangely
smooth areas of the maria.

The second era of astronomy was
the era of the improved eye. First
it was straight improvement, the

telescope was the bigger and better
eye which could see detail where
the naked eye, no matter how sharp,
had only seen gray smudges.
Later on in that era the improve-
ments took another turn. If you
stare at a faint spot, it remains
faint to your eye, no matter how
long you look. The telescope does
not change this essential feature.
But then the artificial eye did not
only get a bigger pupil and a more
powerful lens, it also acquired a
new retina with the miraculous
quality of adding faint impressions

Fig. 5. A perfect representation of the making of a lunar crater, done in
miniature, by dropping a tablespoonfid of cement powder on a surface of
the same material from a height of forty inches. The crater at the left,
120 mm. in diameter, shows a typical central mountain; the other at
right, 90 mm. across, resembles Meteor Crater in Arizona. In the second
experiment, plaster of Paris powder was dropped to show distribution
of “meteoric matter.” White splashes could be found as much as a yard
from the “crater.” The finished crater landscape can be made permanent
by simply spraying with water from an atomizer, followed by soaking.

Fig. 6. Top: Cross section of ex-
perimental impact crater , the dotted
line showing ground level before im-
pact, white line in crater the dis-
tribution of the ‘‘meteorite.'’. Bottom:
Cross section of actual moon crater
with central mountain; line as above.

until they became clear : the camera.
And then a still more wonderful
“eye” was invented, one which did
not see the shape and color of
things, but one which could see
their chemical constitutions — within
certain limitations — the spectro-
scope.

We are still in that second era
but our position on the time scale
is about that of the newborn Kep-
ler. The second era of astronomy
is nearing its end and in about a
lifetime the third era is going to
begin, with the spaceship added as
a new ty]>e of astronomical instru-
ment.

It is easy to guess which of the
three disciplines will progress most
during the third era of astronomy.
The stars will be out of reach for a

no

long time to come. The theory of
astronomical movements is suffi-
ciently well developed not to need
the spaceship very urgently, in fact'
much of the theory of space travel
is based on the reliability of the
theory of astronomical movements
since the spaceship is essentially, to
quote Dr. R. S. Richardson, “an
asteroid capable of changing its or-
bital elements.” It is the second
discipline, the one concerned with
the surfaces of the planets, which
needs the spaceship. Without it as-
tronomers are helpless even in the
case of the Moon,, and the Moon
is not only the nearest but also by
far the best known of all the bodies
of the solar system, not counting
Earth.

The best proof lies in a few hours
at night with a telescope, it does
not need to be one of the giant
instruments. On and off, for the
last twenty years, whenever I had
an opportunity of using a telescope,

I have sat in the open and usually
cold air, looking at the formations
of the lunar surface and trying to
read some meaning into them. By
now they have become quite fa-
miliar, but only in about the same
sense in which I am familiar with
the zoological phenomenon of the
Australian duckbill platypus. The
better you get to know these things
the stranger they appear ; it requires
a lot of familiarity and knowledge
to really appreciate all the quirks
and wrinkles and difficulties.

The distance across which you
look when searching the face of
the Moon for your favorite puzzles
is very short as astronomical dis-

ASTOt’KUI X C SCI K X C K - F I C T 10 X

Fig. 7 . The “Great Valley'’ of the Lunar Alps, drawn by Pit. Fauth.

Fig. 8. Clavius, in the southern hemisphere, a “walled plain” crater.
C I an us. like other “walled plains" is evidently extremely old; both
the interior plain, and the ringwal! show impact .of later meteorites.
Some astronomers believe ancient Clavius shows traces of erosion.

1 1 i

MOO N M Y S T K It 1 1 : s

iV

Fig. 9. The astronomer Hansen be-
lieved the moon egg-shaped , not
spherical, the tip pointing toward
Earth. The far side, being "lower,”
had collected atmosphere, -dr row
points toward Forth. Nezvcomb
showed the moon is almost spherical.

tances go. It is only a fraction over
one light-second, some 240,000
miles, 384,000 kilometers in the
metric system. This is not far
even by a purely terrestrial yard-
stick. 1 am quite certain that there
are many thousands of sailors who
have helped to get a liberty ship
from the American east coast to
British ports, making roundtrip
after roundtrip as a matter of rou-
tine. When they completed their
thirtieth roundtrip they had cov-
ered the distance to the Moon.

It is the distance of thirty round-
trips from New York to England,
or of forty roundtrips from New
York to Hollywood, across which
you look when you see the Moon.
Looking through a telescope the
distance becomes much less, opti-

112

cally speaking. A large astronomi-
cal telescope, under fine seeing con-
ditions, can put an astronomer so
“near” that the picture he sees is
the same as if he were looking—
without a telescope — .through the
window of a spaceship circling the
Moon five hundred miles from its
surface. The case may be com-
pared to the hypothetical one of a
pilot flying high over unknown ter-
ritory, with enough fuel to cruise
endlessly, hut unable to land or
even to go lower.

Such a position is not without
advantages, it is fine for map-mak-
ing. The pilot could produce a
fine general map and one could tell
afterwards where mountains, rivers,
forests and lakes are located, how
the shoreline runs and where the
desert begins. The thing the pilot
could not produce is a geological
survey.

What I said just now about a
high-flying plane over unknown
territory holds true also for that
optical distance of five hundred
miles to which a powerful telescope
carries the observer or the camera.
It is still close enough for excellent
map-making ; it is somewhat in-
credible but true that we know the
surface of the Moon — that half of
it that we can see, that is — better
than we know the surface of the
Earth. Roughly ten percent of the
land surface of our planet is still
unknown anti is so marked on bet-
ter maps. Another ten percent is
mostly guesswork, based on reports
that are still subject to corrections.

There is no guesswork at all on a
lunar map.

ASTOUNDING S C I B NOB- F I C T I O N

To make up for such an intoler-
ably ideal state of affairs the inter-
pretation is guesswork all the way
through. These beautiful lunar
maps are purely topographical, but
what we really want, although we
usually do not think of it in those
terms, are geological — “selenologi-
cal.” if you prefer — surveys. And,
since we never had even a single
one. these amazingly complete maps
are fairly worthless from the point
of view of interpretation.

That hypothetical pilot who is

cruising high above unknown terri-
tory without being able to land at
least knows what it is he sees. He
knows that a shoreline is a bound-
ary between sea and land, that a
river is a continuous depression con-,
tabling flowing fresh water, that
white-capped mountain peaks are
white because they are covered with
ice and snow. In the case of a
forest the pilot’s knowledge of
longitude and latitude would per-
mit him a fair guess as to the type
of forest. 'Most of his interpreta-

Fig. 10. Section of Moon near Hyginus Chasm, seen near sunset. It
creates the impression of some other formation, drowned in hardened lava.
The droumed formation is, however, of a type unknown anywhere on Earth.

•MOON M VST K KIES

113

Fig. 11 . The same section as it was “reconstructed'’ a century ago — when
walls and battlements and defense towers zvere more common on Earth.
That the towers would be a mile high to shozv didn't discourage dreamers ,

114

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE -FICTION

'tion would be correct even though
it, strictly speaking, would be based
on inference throughout. But the
pilot would know other and simi-
lar landscapes and would, there-
fore, be able to draw correct analo-
gies and conclusions. We have,
after all, only a few types of cli-
mates, moist and warm, moist and
cold, dry and warm and dry and
cold, superimposed on an equally
limited number of topographical
features like mountains, highlands,
lowlands, et cetera.

The surface of the Moon does
not lend itself to such interpreta-
tion. Everything we see, virtually
without exception, is strange. In
only a few instances can we rec-
ognize features which we know on
Earth too, and they are not very
customary on Earth. According to
Simon Newcomb’s famous word
the Moon is a world without
weather on which nothing ever hap-
pens. This lack of weather should
eliminate a number of possible vari-
ations of the landscape and it ac-
tually does. But that does not help
us much, because it is the ground
plan itself, the topographical
“style,” which is different.

In pre-telescopic times, and even
during the first century or so of
telescopic observation, these differ-
ences in “style” did not appear so
marked. Hence the lunar map is
full of “terrestrializing” names
which produce a false sense of simi-
larity. The darkish spots one can
see with the naked eye were named
maria, seas, and it was there where
fancy nomenclature had a grand

time. One of the maria was con-
jectured to be a Cloudy Sea (Mare
nubium)-, another a Serene Sea
(Mare serenitatii) , a third a Stormy
Ocean (Oceanus procellarum) .
There is a Rainbow Bay (Sinus
iridum) on the lunar map and a
Misty Swamp (Palus nebularum).

The other lunar features do not
have such fancy names, just be-
cause they are smaller in size and
were not discovered until later, when
astronomers had already realized
that the Moon could not be com-
pared with the Earth in such a di-
rect manner. There are five types
of lunar formations. The large
and strangely smooth darkish maria,
once believed to be seas and then
the bottoms of ancient seas, are one
type. The second and in certain
respects most puzzling type are the
numerous ringwalls or craters
which range all the way from gigan-
tic “walled plains” — of which
Clavius is a fine example — to “nor-
mal” Moon craters like Copernicus,
and small “craterlets” to tiny
“beads.” The third type are moun-
tain chains like those “Alps,”
“Apennines” and “Caucasus”
around the Mare Imbrium. The
fourth are strange deep chasms or
channels, often called rills by as-
tronomers, in adaptation of the Ger-
man appellation Rille which means
“groove.” The fifth type, finally,
are the “rays” which radiate from
some craters, mainly Tycho and
Copernicus, bands of higher lumi-
nosity which cross other craters,
mountains and maria with great im-
partiality, as if they were actually
immaterial “rays” but they obvi-

MOON MYSTERIES

AST— 5S 115

ously have to have a material na-
ture.

Even this simple accounting ot
the five principal features — four
of which are strange — gives an idea
of the difficulties confronting any
attempt at explanation. Most of
the surface features of the Earth
owe their existence or their shape
to weather in one way or another
— but there is no weather on the
Moon. What seemed at first glance
like a simplification of the problem
turns out to be a serious handicap.
The only lunar “weather” we know
of is the monthly day-and-night
period, amounting, in terms of sur-
face temperature, to a regular cycle
with two extremes which are about
four hundred fifty degrees in tem-
perature and two weeks in time
apart from each other. Such
weather can cause the cracking of
surface rocks and it is quite likely
that considerable portions of the
lunar surface are covered with a
kind of gravel of varying grain
size, only a few inches deep. That
cannot account for much and is a
very secondary factor of which we
do not even have any direct tele-
scopic evidence.

The bigger forms which we see
through our telescopes are obvi-
ously the final result of develop-
ments which took place in the past
when there was, presumably,
weather and activity on the Moon.
The question, the real question, is
what kind of weather and what
kind of activity.

The early interpreters, especially
Kepler, were not troubled by such

a conception. At a time when it
was the unspoken belief that our
atmosphere extended to the Moon
the question of weather could not
come up. And although Kepler
himself came to the conclusion that
this belief could not be harbored,
since that would have meant fric-
tion and the solar system could
function only if there was no fric-
tion anywhere, he still had no rea-
son to doubt that the Moon had its
own atmosphere and its own
weather.

Nor did he have any scruples as-
suming the existence of selenites,
or Endymionides, as he called them.
In fact the first evidence presented
by the newly invented telescope at
the very beginning of the second
era of astronomy worked hand in
hand with that belief. The tele-
scope showed what looked like large
numbers of tiny little circles, evi-
dently large holes, situated around
larger “hollows,”, the maria. And
thus Kepler wrote : .

"Those hollows of the Moon first seen
by Galilei are . . . portions below the
general level, like our oceans. But their
appearance makes me judge that they are
swampy for the greater part. It is there
where the Endymionides find the sites
for their fortified cities which protect
them against the swampiness as well as
against the heat of the Sun, possibly also
against enemies. They do it in the fol-
lowing manner: in the center of the
chosen site they put a stout pole to which
they attach ropes, their length depending
on the size of the fortress to be built ;
the longest (rope) measures five German
miles (about twenty miles). Then they
mark the periphery by walking around
at the end of the rope. After that they
amass to build the wall . . . Whenever
, the inhabitants feel annoyed by the power

118

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

of the sun those who live near the center
move into the shadow of the outer wall
. . . following the shadow for fifteen days
they wander about and by this means en-
dure the heat.”

It was an obvious Idea for a
time when people themselves lived
in walled cities because of enemies,
where they were plagued by the
heat of the summer as well as by the
dampness of winter.

But Kepler lived to see only the
first moments of the second era of
astronomy and it was left to his
compatriot Johannes Hevelius to
explore the Moon with the new in-
strument. The result was a monu-
mental work called Selenographia
which appeared in 1647 and which
contained, among other things, evi-
dence of lack of noticeable — or
even visible — bodies of water on the
Moon as well as statements about
the lack of an atmosphere, at least
if the term were understood in the
terrestrial sense. Hevelius was defi-
nite enough to influence even the
Frenchman Bernard de Fontenelle,
who — in 1686, if you care to know
the date — claimed that all worlds
were inhabited by inhabitants
adapted to the conditions of their
respective worlds to make an excep-
tion in the case of the Moon. The
Moon, de Fontenelle declared,
might not be inhabited d cause de la
rarete de I’air.

Quite naturally interest in the
Moon flagged for a considerable
period and it was not until the
nineteenth century that astronomers
again energetically pursued the
work started by Hevelius. But

there were first a number of strange
interludes.

One of them is connected with the
rather strange name of a strange
man, the astronomer Franz von
Paula Gruithuisen of Munich. (The
pronunciation, if you feel inclined
to try, is: Frants fon Pow-la
Khroyt-hoy-zen. ) Gruithuisen had
strange and unusually fantastic
ideas, but it has to be said that he
did not follow the occult method of
substituting afternoon naps with ac-
companying visions and revelations
for serious research. He worked
and worked hard, and had a well-
grounded reputation as observer.
He could make decent drawings,
too. Of all the people who ob-
served the Moon it would be just
Gruithuisen who stumbled across a
real mystery. In the late evening
of July 12, 1822, he carefully stud-
ied the vicinity of one of those
mysterious chasms or rills, the one
called the Hyginus rill because it
runs through the crater Hyginus in
the Southern portion of the Mare
vaporum.

There is a strange formation near
the Hyginus rill. Some astrono-
mers refer to it as Snail Moun-
tain, because it looks somewhat like
the upper portion of a huge snail
that was trapped in tar. There are
the upper ridges of other moun-
tains in the vicinity, also looking
as if their lower portions had been
buried in something viscid which
later hardened. The whole looks
strange enough to seem artificial —
and Gruithuisen did not hesitate for
a moment to say that it was artifi-
cial. At last, he proclaimed, we

MOON MYSTERIES

117

are on the trail of the selenites, we
can see an old and abandoned struc-
ture, obviously an old fortress,
guarding the entrance to an aban-
doned city!'

The discovery caused an enor-
mous stir, as it would even today.
But after an interval of breathless-
ness other observers, especially
Madler, declared that Gruithuisen’s
imagination had made him see
things that did not really exist.
Where Gruithuisen’s had drawn
the walls of a fortress and ruins
of a city Madler just drew a num-
ber of minor mountain ridges
crossing each other. It is fair to
say that Madler exaggerated as
much in one direction as Gruithui-
sen had exaggerated in the other.
The mysterious spot is not a ruined
city as drawn by Gruithuisen, but it
is not as featureless as drawn by
Madler either. It does not need a
large telescope to see it — and the
more you look at it the less does it
“make sense” one way or another.
Alone the fact that there is appar-
ently something buried in something
once liquid is hard enough to swal-
low. What is the substance that
once was liquid ? It could not have
been water which is now ice. Its
color is too dark, and if it were
darkish rock dust over a layer of
ice the rock dust would heat up
sufficiently during the lunar day to
melt the ice. If it was lava, where
did it come from?

Gruithuisen’s Wallwerk, as he
called it, is not that, but we’ll not
be able to tell what it really is until
we get there.

its

After the storm about the Wall-
werk there came another and in
some respects even stranger inter-
lude, the discussion about the al-
leged nonspherical shape of the
Moon. The father of that idea was
Peter Andreas Hansen, a Danish
watchmaker who, via a job as assis-
tant surveyor in the Danish Sur-
vey, became connected with the then
new observatory in Altona and was,
in 1825, called to the famous Uni-
versity town of Gotha as director of
the Seeberg observatory. There he
distinguished himself greatly in
theoretical work. One of his pa-
pers, on the mutual perturbations
of Jupiter and Saturn, won a prize
from the Berlin Academy, another
one on the orbits of comets won a
prize from the Paris Academy while
his Tables of the motions of the
Moon were printed at the expense
of the British Government and em-
bodied in the Nautical Almanac.
The Royal Astronomical* Society
awarded him a gold medal, the
Royal Saxonian Academy of Sci-
ences considered it a privilege to
print his works. Hansen’s fame
was, as can readily be seen, interna-
tional and well deserved and when
he announced that he had a novel
conception of the Moon everybody
listened attentively.

The mainstay of Hansen’s thesis
was the fact that we see only one
side of the Mooh since the Moon’s
motion is about that of a barking
dog jumping around a man. All he
can see is the open mouth and bared
inhospitable teeth. If one did not
know the appearance of a dog, one
might, because of that impression,

.ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

picture it as a monster consisting
of jaws and teeth, with some minor
and ill-defined appendages.

Astronomical research about the
Moon has disclosed, Hansen said —
without any such reference to dog-
monsters — that the air is too thin to
be detected, a fact which is popu-
larly expressed by saying “no air.”
It has failed to show the presence of
water. All it does show is a collec-
tion of silent craters, bleak moun-
tain ridges and desolate mare
plains. All in all the picture of a
forbidding inhospitable world.
There is no doubt that this picture
is correct, but there is no reason
to believe that it applies to all of the
lunar world! It applies to the half
we can see, it does not necessarily
have to apply to the invisible half,
too. In fact, Hansen said, there is
good reason to believe that it
doesn’t. Certain peculiarities in
the behavior of the Moon indicate
that it is not spherical at all, but
that its shape should be compared
with an egg, the long axis of which
is pointing toward the Earth.

What we see is the pointed end
of the egg-shaped moon, so-to-
speak a gigantic mountain, rising
hundreds of miles above the ideal
but nonexistent spherical surface
of the neighboring world. Natu-
rally there is no atmosphere, that
gigantic “mountain” is higher than
the lunar atmosphere. Naturally
there is no water, any water that
ever might have been there had
flown over the rim to the lovylands
of the “other side.” And these
lowlands are apt to be moist, with a
flourishing vegetation, with animals

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MOON MYSTERIES

119

that have a life-rhythm adapted to
the long cycle of lunar day and
night, possibly even with those sel-
enites Professor Gruithuisen has
been looking for more or less in
yain all these years.

The dog, to return to my own
picture, with snarling lips and in-
hospitable teeth in front, did have a
friendly rear end too, only we can't
see it because of his peculiar mo-
tion around us.

It was an intriguing idea and, al-
most needless to say, stories were
written around it, one, by a Polish
author, as late as 1911. (Fritz
Lang, in his space-travel movie
“Frau im Mond,” revived part of
Hansen’s idea for the very simple
practical reason that it permitted
the actors to shed their spacesuits.)
For a while everybody was in-
trigued, but then critics arose. The
most important of them was Simon
Newcomb and Newcomb actually
succeeded in proving that even Han-
sen could make mistakes and that
the Moon is at least as spherical as
the Earth. And one German ob-
servatory, just because of Hansen,
inaugurated a special study of "the
other side.” Since the Moon’s mo-
tion is irregular it seems to “wob-
ble” a bit, called Vibration in digni-
fied language. This libration per-
mits to see small parts of the “other
side” at regular intervals so that the
total of the Moon’s surface which
we can see is not precisely one
half, as should be expected, but
about four sevenths. That special
study agreed with Newcomb and
not with Hansen, that what we can

see of the “other side” is of the
same type, or types, which haunt us
on our side. The Moon is "all
teeth.”

After Hansen’s “Moon Moun-
tain” had come crashing down as-
tronomers set out in great serious-
ness to explain what they saw. That
explanation still sticks in the minds
of quite a number of people and
when you stand for some time near
the large lunar photographs in the
Hayden Planetarium— or any other
— you’ll be able to overhear some
father displaying his learning to his
wife and half-grown children in
about the following manner :

“These big smooth areas you see
there are the so-called mare, in
former times this was all ocean,
but now they are dry. All these
little circles are extinct craters,
that must have been some volcanic
display when they were still active.
Those little lines are deep chasms
like our Grand Canyon. Down
there you have real mountains like
the Rockies-. And those white
“rays” that emanate from some
craters are cracks, the volcanism
must have been bad enough to crack
the whole Moon. Then lava came
rip in the cracks and lava looks
brighter than other rocks.”

All of which is perfectly good
astronomical conjecture, only it hap-
pens to be slightly old-fashioned, by
about seventy years. The whole ex-
planation, you may have noticed,
works with past volcanism and
former weather. Former seas,
former rivers cutting deep canyons
into the rock, former weather erod-
ing former volcanic craters. The

120

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

important, but usually neglected,
point is that the lunar craters, even
if they were volcanic in origin, would
have to be conceived as eroded
craters. No active volcanic crater
looks even remotely like the aver-
age Moon crater, but an old and
extinct crater on which erosion
went to work for some ten thousand
years or so, might resemble a lunar
crater. In order to maintain the
volcanic hypothesis you would have
to assume that lunar volcanism
stopped at a time when the atmos-
phere was still dense and moist so
that it could cause considerable ero-
sion.

I cannot help but feel that the
whole volcanic hypothesis owes its
existence to the semantic compul-
sion of the term “crater.” Some
dunderhead in the past thought that
"crater” would be a nice conven-
ient word for the ringwalls of the
Moon and since then a long series
of other dunderheads spent their
lives trying to prove that the things
they called craters actually were
craters.

If you call them ringwalls to be-
gin with and then study their size
and shape carefully, you'll soon be-
gin to wonder why anybody ever
even dreamed that they could have
volcanic origin. The diameters of
the vast majority run between
thirty and one hundred twenty
miles. The floor of the ringwalls
is always lower than the general
level of the surrounding moon-
scape, in about fifty percent of all
cases it shows a central mountain,
in the other fifty percent the floor is
virtually smooth. If there is a cen-

tral mountain, its height is always
such that it about reaches to the
level of the surrounding moon-
scape. If either the ringwall itself
or the floor shows a noticeable in-
terruption, it is usually a smaller
ringwall of the same general type.

As regards the volcanic hypothe-
sis: the “craters” are far too large
to begin with, even considering the
lesser gravity of the Moon. If the
ones without a central mountain
were weathered down, you would
naturally expect that the interior is
considerably above the general level
of the surrounding moonscape,
filled with debris from the crater
wall. Those with a central moun-
tain would then be craters of the
type you occasionally find on Earth,
with a “young” active crater inside
the old rim. But then the younger
crater should be considerably higher
than the old eroded ringwall and the
floor, again, should be considerably
above mean Moon level. And that
a secondary young crater should
break through the old ringwall, just
at the spot where a lot of addi-
tional weight is piled on, is a harder
strain on the imagination than one
could reasonably be expected to
stand.

Unbiased examination of the
available data had to lead to the
result that the lunar craters, in spite
of their misleading designation,
could not be volcanic in origin,
unless you invented a special and
impossible variety of volcanism to
suit the observations.

There existed an alternate hy-
pothesis, invented by, of all people,
old Gruithuisen. At one point of.

MOON MYSTERIES

121

his writings he had mentioned, very
much by-the-way, that the lunar
craters looked like impact craters
caused by cosmic matter. A little
later a mining engineer by the name
of Althans, who had witnessed the
famous life struggle of ordnance
engineers — i.e. first to devise an
armor plate that will stand all
known projectiles and then to de-
sign a gun that will pierce that plate
— arrived at the same conclusion,
presumably without having read
Gruithuisen. He even tried to ex-
periment, using balls of grapeshot
as meteorites and shallow pans
filled with fresh mortar as the
lunar surface.

The first well-known astronomer
to subscribe to the meteoric hy-
pothesis was R. Proctor, some fifty
years ago. Slowly the party of
adherents tp the meteoric hypothe-
sis grew and when the meteoric
origin of comparable objects on
Earth — especially Meteor Crater in
Arizona — was established the
growth of that party accelerated in
proportion. What this party lacked
was a neat and simple method of
demonstrating meteor craters in the
laboratory.

They got that method in 1918,
and it is hardly surprising to learn
that it was not devised by an as-
tronomer or physicist but by a ge-
ologist. His name was Dr. Alfred
Wegener, the same who later ac-
quired fame as originator of the
theory of continental drift.

The type of experiments origi-
nated by Althans had rarely led
ianywhere, obviously because labora-

2*

tory conditions could not duplicate
the actual event well enough. In
one case you had a leaden or rub-
ber ball, hitting a “batter” of ce-
ment or mortar with something like
three feet per second, in the other
you had a hunk of iron or rock,
weighing scores of tons and striking
the ground with a velocity of some
twenty miles per second or more.
You got a much truer picture of a
lunar ringwall for a split second by
dropping a drop of cream into a cup
of coffee; the coffee, at least, did
not have the annoying coherence of
mortar.

The answer was in that last
statement. In general one may dis-
tinguish between two types of
forces, molecular forces — the

strength of the material — and mass
forces — gravitation — as Wegener
called them. Both types of forces
were present both in the laboratory
and in actuality, but in an entirely
different ratio! In the laboratory
the “molecular forces” were rela-
tively enormous and the mass force
of gravitation appeared mainly as a
nuisance. In an actual meteor
crash the molecular forces— tensile
strength of the material of the
meteorite — did not count at all, the
hardness of steel is as unimportant
as the brittleness of rock when it
comes to collisions at twenty miles
per second. In order to imitate
such a collision in the laboratory
one had to find a material of no
tensile strength!

There are such materials, fine
powders of any kind. Wegener
chose cement powder for purely
practical reasons, it comes in uni-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

form quality and the results can
afterwards be hardened by spraying
with water. Both the “meteorite”
and the “surface” were dust, sim-
ply a shallow pan filled with ce-
ment dust and a soup spoonful of
cement powder that was dropped
on that “surface” from a height of
about forty inches. The experi-
ment is so simple that anybody
can repeat it any time, the only
thing that is wrong with it is that
cement dust is rather dirty to work
with.

The results are amazing. The
impact craters do not only look like
meteor craters, they also show all
their characteristics. The floor is
always below the general level, it
is always smooth, the ratio between
the height of the ringwall and the
diameter of the whole is the same as
that found in the less shallow natu-
ral lunar craters, and the average
of the measurements of some twenty
craters showed almost precisely the
same ratio of dimensions as Meteor
Crater in Arizona.

The first question that arose was :
“What happens to the meteorite?”
To answer that question a soup
spoonful of plaster of Paris was
dropped on a cement surface. The
result was a surprise, the crater was
white all over. Particles of plaster
had spattered across the rim to a
distance of about a yard. A cross
section showed that the “meteoric
matter” was thinnest over the crater
floor and somewhat concentrated on
the inner side of the ringwall.
There was no “main mass” and it
is probable that the majority of all

large meteorites “disappears” in
this manner.

The next question was: “When
does a central mountain form?”

At first the experiments refused
to answer that question, until one
formed accidentally. It was then
found that you can always get a
central mountain, provided your
layer of cement dust is not too
thick. It has to be less than an
inch. Repetition of the experiment
with plaster of Paris and cross sec-
tioning of the model showed that
the central mountain was merely
ground material that had not been
moved outward to form the rim
of the crater. This explains why
the real central mountains never
attain the height of the crater rim
but only that of the surrounding
level. The rim is ground material
piled high, the central mountain is
ground material left undisturbed.
Translated into large-scale happen-
ings this experiment indicates that
a central mountain will form where
thick layers of dense rock material
can be found not too deeply below
the surface. This does not seem to
be the case in Arizona, hence
Meteor Crater is without a central
mountain.

The development of the meteoric
hypothesis accounts well for the
thirty thousand or so craters we
see on the Moon. All those diffi-
culties with which the volcanic hy-
pothesis had to wrestle endlessly,
the large size, the smooth crater
floor, smaller craters in the rim of
bigger ones, lack or presence of a
central mountain, the ratio of the
various dimensions, all this fits well.

MOON MYSTERIES

m

The same hypothesis can account
for the maria too. Mare Crisium,
as a quick look at any photograph
will show, is simply a “super-gigan-
tic” Moon crater. So is the Mare
Imbrium and its mountain chains,
the Alps, Apennines, et cetera, turn
out to be merely parts of an enor-
mous ringwall. But in the case of
the maria an additional assumption
has to be made.

There can be no doubt that a
meteorite causing a mare is a siz-
able planetoid; it has been calcu-
lated, for example, that the one
' responsible for Mare Imbrium must
have had a diameter of about one
hundred twenty-five miles. A col-
lision with a body of such mass
: does more than just cause an im-
pact crater. It is apt to break
through and cause a lava flow of at
least as much mass as that of the
meteorite. The magma replaced by
i the planetoid wells up and floods the
! floor of the enormous crater. It is
interesting, in this connection, to
look at the later craters that formed
on top of that lava flow. The small
ones in the center — and a few large
ones near the rim — are without cen-
tral mountain, others near the rim,
where the lava flow is presumably
rather shallow, do have them.

The general picture that emerges
from these considerations is that
the Moon is not a world “shriv-
eled with age” as some people de-
lighted in putting it half a century
ago. On the contrary, the Moon
represents the picture of a world
which expanded after it was already
formed. It expanded because of
the addition of very large amounts

of cosmic matter, especially those
minor planets or moons which re-
sulted in the maria. The strange
and otherwise almost inexplicable
rills are likely a secondary result
of that expansion.

Yes, but didn’t I knock my own
argument out with all the forgoing?
Early in this article I said that that
discipline of astronomy which deals
with the surfaces of the planets
needs the spaceship as a new instru-
ment of astronomical .research. If
we know all that, do we really need
it for the Moon? No doubt, a
spaceship would be nice to have,
but how much more could it teach
us about the Moon? Except, pos-
sibly, to see what Gruithuisen’s
Wallzverk really is.

Even forgetting about the IVall-
werk which is somewhat boring
after a century of discussion, and
forgetting also about the "other
side” which is rather too obvious
an argument, the answer is still
“yes.” With emphasis! There are
many things we would like to know
and never will know unless we get
there.

The Mare Imbrium has been
mentioned so often before, let’s start
there again. Just north of the
Mare Imbrium — that is “down” on
an astronomical photograph —
there is the walled plain called
Plato. The normal thing regarding
the appearance of a lunar crater
during a lunar day is this : when the
sun rises for the crater the ring-
wall stands out in bright illumina-
tion, then the central mountain, if

124

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

any, while the floor is still in a
deep shadow.

Gradually the floor is illuminated
by the sun too, save for those por-
tions in the direct shadow of the
ringwall. As the terminator ad-
vances the shadow shortens and
when the sun is in the zenith for
that crater everything is an almost
featureless white, things are hard
to see just because there are no
shadows now. As for Plato the be-
ginnings of a day are the same. But
as the terminator progresses and the
sun rises higher the floor gets
darker. On photographs taken at
what is almost high noon for that
section of the Moon, Plato looks
like an inkspot; people who did not
know about that have asked me seri-
ously whether that spot was a flaw
in the plate.

Evaporation of moisture forming
a light-absorbing mist? Or just
melting ice? I would very much
like to know. But it would take a
spaceship to get a reliable answer.

Some seventy miles west of
Plato, in the middle of the “Alps,”
you suddenly come across the Great
Valley, about ninety miles long and
up to six and one half miles wide.
The mountains of the “Alps” rise
up to twelve thousand feet over the
bottom of the Great Valley which is
perfectly smooth as far as we can
make out. There is absolutely no
explanation for the Great Valley
except one : that a meteorite of more
than six miles diameter hit the
Moon at so shallow an angle that it
plowed through the Alps before it
fell down elsewhere. We don’t
know where, but you can find

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MOON MYSTERIES

125

craters lying in the direction of the
Great Valley on either side, which,
of course, may be accidental and
have nothing to do with the projec-
tile in question.

On Earth we have several meteor
craters which we can study in de-
tail and at leisure. But we don’t
have anything like a valley literally
shot out of a mountain chain by a
large meteorite. The Great Valley
deserves detailed study. But we
can’t do it from here!

There are some interesting moun-
tains— not ringwalls — sticking out
of the lava flow of the Mare Iin-
briurn, for example Pico, just south
of Plato. Are they really moun-
tains? Or volcanic upheavals? We
can’t tell until we get there.

North of the Mare Imbrium there
is Eratosthenes. Eratosthenes
would be just a medium-sized, very
beautiful and very typical crater,
if it were not for William Picker-
ing who observed repeatedly strange
grayish spots moving around inside
the crater. Cloud formations be-
traying the presence of moisture?
Or lunar vegetation, springing up
and being killed by the heat of the
sun with great rapidity? Or
swarms of lunar insects, equivalents
of terrestrial locusts? Or simply
eyestrain ?

We’ll never know until we get
there.

Not far from Eratosthenes there
are the fine craters of Copernicus
and Kepler, both showing typical
patterns of “rays.” The “rays,”
that much is clear, are evidently
streaks of fine particles shot to a

329

considerable distance when the cra-
ters were formed. It is quite likely
that the material that causes them is
so thinly spread that you could walk
across a “ray” on the Moon with-
out ever knowing it. Fine, but why
do only a few craters have systems
of “rays”? One astronomer ad-
vanced the very interesting hypothe-
sis that they are the .craters formed
by large iron meteorites, that the
“rays” are volatilized metal. Rock
dust evidently is not apt to show
much ; the explanation is fascinating
and corresponds with terrestrial evi-
dence. The Arizona crater is the
result of an iron meteorite and small
globules of iron have been found
around it. It would be interesting
to see wehther Meteor Crater, seen
from space, shows “rays.”

Before jumping to the South Pole
of the Moon we have to make a de-
tour into the Mare Serenitatis for
Linne, named after the famous
Swedish biologist and systematizer
Linnaeus.

Linne is merely a grayish-whitish
spot, not clearly defined and look-
ing alike all through the lunar day,
i.e. too shallow to cast a shadow.
Some observers stated that a tiny
hole can be seen in the center of
that spot, provided the telescope is
large and the seeing conditions are
more than just fine. This is a mod-
ern description, made after 1900.
But Schmidt, in 1843, claimed that
Linne was a crater about six miles
in diameter and some twelve hun-
dred feet deep. And he and others
of his time used Linne as a fixed
point for measuring distances since
it stood so neatly alone in the mare.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

It still stands neatly alone, but no-
body in his right mind would use
such an ill-defined object for this
purpose. Question : is Linne a real
volcano which was active some time
between about 1860 and 1890?

We won’t be able to tell, et
cetera.

Near the South Pole there are
more nice points of interest. There
is Clavius, an enormous walled plain
measuring well over one hundred
fifty miles in diameter. Clavius is,
no doubt, old. Seven big and a
large number of smaller meteorites
have scored direct hits on its walls
in the meantime. The troublesome
point is this: these newer craters
are not .only newer because they are
superimposed on Clavius’ ringwall,
they also look newer. Is Clavius
old enough to go back to a time
where there was erosion as we know
it? (The same question can be
asked about some other walled
plains, too. Yes, why only walled
plains? Or mostly walled plains?
Why not smaller craters?)

And then there is Wargentin, ly-
ing so close to the SE rim that it
is hard to see most of the time.
Wargentin is a forty-five-mile
crater that is filled to the rim. What
happened? If the meteorite that
formed it broke through and caused
a lava flow, why did not the lava
melt the ringwall in some place?

How could such a clearly defined
ringwall form at all if the meteorite
broke through? The only sugges-
tion I can think of is that War-
gentin was formed in the approved
manner and that a later hit inside it
broke through. This idea does not
make me completely happy, it is
merely the best I can think of right
now. Meanwhile the “thin cheese”
as Nasmyth and Carpenter called
Wargentin, will continue to haunt
me.

And then we have the Railroad
on the Southern hemisphere, also
called the Straight Wall. Location :
in Mare Nubiutn near crater Thebit,
west of the crater, to be precise.
(East of it, to make things a little
more mysterious, is a slightly curved
rill, shorter than the Straight Wall,
but running parallel to it.) The
Straight Wall is about seventy miles
long, one thousand to two thousand
feet high, showing as a black line
part of the lunar day — shadow —
and showing as a very white line
otherwise. For the sake of the
filing index the Straight Wall, also
called the Railroad, has been put
down as a rock fault. We do have
rock faults on Earth, but they are
much shorter and I still have to hear
of one that is as straight as the
Straight Wall.

I think the Straight Wall, too,
will be reserved for the coming
third era of astronomy.

THE END.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

MOON MYSTERIES

1*7

PROBABILITY

ZERO

AGRICULTURAL GEOLOGY
by

George Holman

“More than most people notice,
the way they live depends on the
geology o’ the country they live in,”
Hardluck Hadley said, as we left
Custard City behind and plodded
northward along the gloomy trail
toward the Carbohydrate Moun-
tains. For the reason that he was
familiar with the topography and
geology of Venus, I had signed up
the unlucky old prospector as a
partner.

Hardluck pointed to a Colonist at
work in an artificially lighted field
nearby. “Take that farmer in’ size
him up with a farmer back on
Earth,” he suggested. “The farmer
on Earth grows grain, tubers, fruits
an’ vegetables. He fertilizes his
ground with limestone dust, phos-
phates an’ nitrates. But that farmer
here on Venus grovys macaroni,
cream puffs an’ soft-nosed pies.

An’ fur fertilizer he uses spices,
eggs an’ rock sugar frum the mines
o’ Saccharita.”

“Over in Pristine Province
farmin’ is different yet,” the old
sourdough went on. “There the
primordial rocks come near croppin’
out, an’ in places the soil is hematite
or liinonite. Both are friable iron
ores. One time I staked out a
homestead on some hematite land,
an’ tried to raise soft-nosed pies.
But the crusts o’ my first crop o’
pies turned out to be cast iron.
Then I tried to raise macaroni. It
turned out to be small steel tubes.
Then I hit on the idea o’ raisin’ ball
bearin’s. I planted a small field,
an’ got a bumper crop. As you
know, they grow in long round pods
on vines, like peas.”

“I was figgerin’ on gittin’ rich
raisin’ ball bearin’s fur all the ma-
chinery here on Venus when an-
other problem popped up. I didn’t
have time to sell my crop before
they started to rust. Soon they was
pitted an’ spoiled. I took this loss.

128

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

an’ set out to make my bearin’s
rustproof. I ordered chromite from
Luzon, an’ fertilized a small plot
o’ my hematite land with it an’ some
nickel ore an’ carbon. The bearin’s
I raised on this plot turned out
stainless. I ordered enough chro-
mite fur my whole farm, an’ planted
it all in bearin’s.”

“I hired coolies to hull my first
two crops by hand. But with my
whole homestead in ball bearin’s, I
needed a machine to thrash them. I
mortgaged ever’thing I had to git
the money fur a thrashin’ rig. I
sent my order to a firm on Earth,
an’ by harvest my bearin’ separator
an’ separate smasher-powered en-
gine was delivered.”

“My orderin’ that thrasher let my
plans be known, an’ the ball bearin’
manufacturers on Earth plotted my
downfall. My shipment o’ fer-
tilizer was late, an’ I had it spread
at once. The chromite looked
darker an’ heavier than the last ship-
ment, but I was in too big a hurry
to run a test on it.”

“About a week later I noticed that
ever’ bearin’ pod had lined itself in
a northwest-southeast direction. I
was puzzled till I remembered that
Pristine Province is in a direct line
between the two main magnetic
poles o’ Venus. My ball bearin’s
had become magnetized. I examined
my fertilizer I had left over. I
opened one of the drums labeled
'Chromite.’ There was no chro-
mite about it. It was magnetite.”
“I couldn’t see where the bearin’s
bein’ magnetic would damage them.
So I got ready to thrash them. My
coolies fed the vines into the sep-

arator, an’ the blower blowed them
out. But nary a bearin’ rolled out.
I had figgercd out that the magne-
tized bearin’s was stickin’ to the
iron parts o’ the machine, when the
whole separator suddenly turned
around. The belt flew off as it
made for the engine, like a magnet
attracted toward steel.”

“No sooner did my Venusian en-
gineer see the separator move than
he give the engine the gun. The
smashers roared out, an’ the engine
raced away across the fields. The
separator full o’ magnetized bearin’s
was right behind it. The engineer
raced the engine this way and that
tryin’ to git away frum that infernal
separator gone loony. But it was
no use. The engine had to run over
some bearin’ vines, an’ both bearin’s
an’ loose pods stuck to it. At last
the engine bogged down, an’ the
separator went into it like a buttin’
goat. The atom-smashers must
have exploded, ’cause that was the
last we saw of either machine ’cep-
tin’ a cloud o’ smoke.”

“Fur a week after the explosion
ball bearin’s rained down like hail-
stones all over Venus,” the old sour-
dough concluded.

TPIAT’S A LOT OF HOT AIR !
by

Francis Wilson Powell

“Yes, sir,” the brisk, young clerk
chirped, “a fine new wagon in ex-
change for your auto? Or would
you rather take this jaunting car?

PROBABIEITT ZERO

129

it’s the latest style, you know.”

“I,” said the customer, "would
like—”

"Oh, you want a sulky, perhaps ?
Anything to oblige. Now, sir,
would you mind telling me just
where you found that?”

He pointed to the beautiful, eight-
cylinder sedan. The customer
opened and shut his mouth, but the
clerk rattled right on.

“Just sign here. That’s fine!
We’ll deliver in the morning. But,
as I was saying, sir, we must put
down a good reason for your still
having that at all. Regulations, you
know.”

"I,” said the customer —

"Oh, I see. You must have been
’way up in the mountains and didn’t
hear about the new law. Radio
broken ?”

“I,” the customer tried again.
“Oh, you young fool! Can’t you
shut up for a moment?”

"I beg your pardon! Of course,
sir, you realize that discourtesy to
a member of the Bureau of Reclam-
ation and Assessment of New and
Used Automobiles for the Promo-
tion of Public Welfare and Safety
of the World may result in a heavy
fine. But, sir, I’m sure you are
not familiar with the laws, so we’ll
overlook it this time. Now, as you
were saying — ”

"Look,” the customer pleaded,
“just take my car ; give me the horse
and buggy — and 1-e-a-v-c-m-e-

a-l-o-n-e !” ’

Leaving the Reclamation Office,
the husky customer adjourned to
“Ye Olden Coupe” and ordered a
row of brandies set up on the bar.

180

After consuming the first six, he
fell into conversation with a barfly.

“Tell me, sonny,” he begged,
"what’s all this idiotic monkey busi-
ness about having to swap in your
car for a horse and wagon? I’ve
been out of town a long time.”

The barfly fumbled in his pocket.
“Got change for a twenty?” he
asked.

"All right,” said the customer,
“I’ll buy you a drink. Now, let’s
have it.”

"Well, hrrrmmm! It’s a long
story. My, that was smooth
brandy !”

The customer bought him two
more and listened. Eventually, the
story unfolded.

It seems that, a few months back,
the World Government came to the
conclusion that the weather was
gradually changing — at an acceler-
ating pace. In seeking the reason
for this, research men investigated
all possible factors.

It came to their attention that the
consumption of petroleum had in-
creased ten times during the war
and had persisted at this rate for
the past ten years — making a grand
total of nearly thirty billion tons.
Now, while the Earth itself was be-
lieved to weigh six sextillion, six
hundred quintillion tons, it can be
appreciated that the consumption of
petroleum was rapidly becoming a
large portion of the Earth’s weight.

“So, you see,” said the barfly,
“that is a very serious matter.”

“No, I don’t see,” the customer
replied.

“Why, of course,” the barfly re-
torted, “they had to forbid the use

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

of petroleum. Every time you burn
oil in your auto, you turn the heavy
liquid into light gases. As billions
of tons of gas escape, the weight
of the Earth is lessened — and this
is throwing the Earth out of its
orbit.”

“Oh,” weakly answered the cus-
tomer.

APPLESAUCE

by

George W. Hall

On the way to his reward, New-
ton’s spirit stuck his head out to
test the ether drift. He was rather
brutally yanked out, caught in a
space-time warp.

His robe somewhat awry, he
landed on a planet belonging to a
twin-sun system on one of the galax-
ies. A native shaped like a cross
between a lobster and a robot bomb
was squatting on the nickel-iron
ground, browsing on polar magnetic
line forces which he snapped like
taut elastic bands and ate like
spaghetti.

“Tell me all about yourself !”
telepathed the native, amicably offer-
ing the newcomer a few choice bits
of meteorite. “My name is QZZZ-
000>4 and this is planet V-2.”

Politely Newton refused but be-
gan talking: “My name is Newton
and I come from Earth.”

QZZZ-OOOyi was a wonderful
listener and Newton let himself
go.

“One thing strikes me in the his-

tory of man upon your planet Earth
and that is the marvelous role that
apples played in the development
of the race,” mused QZZZ-000J4
when Newton finally ran down. All
you told me about your discovery
of the laws of gravitation, differ-
ential calculus and the corpuscle
theory of light, I understand easily ;
but that matter of the apples is
beyond my comprehension. Tell me
more about the apple!”

“The apple?” Newton was non-
plused. “Oh, you mean the one
that fell and got me to thinking!
Why, it was just an apple ... a
fruit, you know . . . red ... I re-
member picking it up afterwards
and it was wormy — Ah, me ! An
apple orchard in the spring !”

“It is extraordinary,” said QZZZ-
000J4 but I cannot see it. But an

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181

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apple must be the most wonderful
machine! What about that Adam
and Eve business ? It changed your
world, didn’t it? And then that
William Tell affair! It changed
the world again!”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” ad-
mitted Newton.

“And you say it is a small round
thing without tubes, without elec-
tronic or atomic elements of
power ?”

“Yes. Just a fruit. We eat it.”
“Liar!”

“Sir?”

“Liar! A thing like that could
not change the destiny of a race.”
“I do not like being called a liar,
sir. If I had some way to — ”
“Got you there! If it is as you
say, I will apologize. Take hold
of my claw while I adjust this slide
on my antenna. Third planet in
single sun system, Milky Way
Galaxy, I believe you said. The
space-time warp is simple. Let’s
go!”

And so, instantly, they found
themselves in an orchard on Earth

and the year was 1944. The apples
were ripe, red and round.

“Sit still,” said Newton, “one
must fall presently and you will un-
derstand.”

Three days passed and no apple
fell.

“Same old story,” growled QZZZ-
000)4. “no matter where they come
from they are all liars!” He ad-
justed his antenna and disappeared.

Two little boys came in the or-
chard and began digging for worms.

“Gee !” said the smallest, “I’d like
an apple!”

“Pa got them all counted with
the radar,” said the other, “and
don’t try climbing either, the elec-
tric eye is watching.”

“Don’t they never fall?” queried
the first boy.

“Heck, no ! They have been
sprayed with that hormone dope
that prevents dissolution of the ab-
cission layer between the fruit stem
and the spur!”

“Heck!” said the first boy.

“Heck and double Heck!” mut-
tered Newton as he began his long
flight up once more.

THE END.

There are two ways to be sure of getting your
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1. Be spry — get there before the other guy.

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ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

THE FOOTBALL OUTLOOK

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The prospects of the East, West, Pacific Coost,
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ST ATE i j , — - « • • « • « i

No Woman Born

by C. L. MOORE

She had been beautiful — before the fire. Now she was living again ,
in a sense, but as a robot. Could personality show through a robot . . .

Illustrated by Kramer

She had been the loveliest crea-
ture whose image ever moved along
the airways. John Harris, who
was once her manager, remembered
doggedly how beautiful she had
been as he rose in the silent ele-
vator toward the room where Deir-
dre sat waiting for hitn.

Since the theater fire that had

134

destroyed her a year ago, he had
never been quite able to let him-
self remember her beauty clearly,
except when some old poster, half
in tatters, flaunted her face at him,
or a maudlin memorial program
flashed her image unexpectedly
across the television screen. But
now he had to remember.

astounding science-fiction

The elevator came to a sighing
stop and the door slid open. John
Harris hesitated. He knew in his
mind that he had to go' on, but his
reluctant muscles almost refused
him. He was thinking helplessly, as
he had not allowed himself to think
until this moment, of the fabulous
grace that had poured through her
wonderful dancer’s body, remem-
bering her soft and husky voice
with the little burr in it that had
fascinated the audiences of the
whole world.

There had never been anyone so
beautiful.

In times before her, other ac-
tresses had been lovely and adulated,
but never before Deirdre’s day had
the entire world been able to take
one woman so wholly to its heart.
So few outside the capitals had
ever seen Bernhardt or the fabulous
Jersey Lily. And the beauties of
the movie screen had had to limit
their audiences to those who could
reach the theaters. But Deirdre’s
image had once moved glowingly
across the television screens of
every home in the civilized world.
And in many outside the bounds of
civilization. Her soft, husky songs
had sounded in the depths of jun-
gles, her lovely, languorous body
had woven its patterns of rhythm
in desert tents and polar huts. The
whole world knew every smooth mo-
tion of her body and every cadence
of her voice, and the way a subtle
radiance had seemed to go on be-
hind her features when she smiled.

And the whole world had
mourned her when she died in the
theater fire.

Harris could not quite think of
her as other than dead, though he
knew what sat waiting him in the
room ahead. He kept remember-
ing the old words James Stephens
wrote long ago for another Deirdre,
also lovely and beloved and un for-
gotten after two thousand yeass.

The time comes when our hearts sink
utterly,

When we remember Deirdre and her tale.
And that her lips are dust. . . .

There has been again no woman born
Who was so beautiful ; not one so beauti-
ful

Of all the women born —

That wasn’t quite true, of course
• — there had been one. Or maybe,
after all, this Deirdre who died
only a year ago had not been beau-
tiful in the sense of perfection. He
thought the other one might not
have been either, for there are al-
ways women with perfection of fea-
ture in the world, and they are not
the ones that legend remembers. It
was the light within, shining
through her charming, imperfect
features, that had made this Deir-
dre’s face so lovely. No one else
he had ever seen had anything like
the magic of the lost Deirdre.

Let all men go apart and mourn to-
gether—

No man can ever love her. Not a man
Can dream to be her lover. . . . No man
say —

What could one say to her? There are
no words .-*■

That one could say to her.

No, no words at all. And it was
going to be impossible to go through
with this. Harris knew it over-

Jto WOMAN BORN

m

whehningly just as his finger
touched the buzzer. But the door
opened almost instantly, and then it
was too late.

Maltzer stood just inside, peer-
ing out through his heavy specta-
cles. You could see how tensely he
had been waiting. Harris was a
little shocked to see that the man
was trembling. It was hard to
think of the confident and imper-
turbable Maltzer, whom he had
known briefly a year ago, as shaken
J'ke this. He wondered if Deirdre
herself were as tremulous with
sheer nerves — but it was not time
yet to let himself think of that.

“Come in, come in,” Maltzer said
irritably. There was no reason for
irritation. The year’s work, so
much of it in secrecy and solitude,
must have tried him physically and
mentally to the very breaking point.

“She all right?” Harris asked in-
anely, stepping inside.

“Oh yes . . . yes, she’s all right.”
Maltzer bit his thumbnail and
glanced over his shoulder at an in-
ner door, where Harris guessed she
would be waiting.

“No,” Maltzer said, as he took
an involuntary step toward it.
“We’d better have a talk first.
Come over and sit down. Drink?”

Harris nodded, and watched
Maltzer’s hands tremble as he tilted
the decanter. The man was clearly
on the very verge of collapse, and
Harris felt a sudden cold uncer-
tainty open up in him in the one
place where until now he had been
oddly confident.

“She is all right?” he demanded,
taking the glass.

]S(t

“Oh yes, she’s perfect. She’s so
confident it scares me.” Maltzer
gulped his drink and poured an-
other before he sat down.

“What’s wrong, then?”
“Nothing, I guess. Or . . . well,
I don’t know. I’m not sure any
more. I’ve worked toward this
meeting for nearly a year, but now
— well, I’m not sure it’s time yet.
I’m just not sure.”

He stared at Harris, his eyes
large and indistinguishable behind
the lenses. He was a thin, wire-
taut man with all the bone and sinew
showing plainly beneath the dark
skin of his face. Thinner, now,
than he had been a year ago when
Harris saw him last.

“I’ve been too close to her,” he
said now. “I have no perspective
any more." All I can see is my own
work. And I'm just not sure that’s
ready yet for you or anyone to
see.”

“She thinks so ?”

“I never saw a woman so confi-
dent.” Maltzer drank, the glass
clicking on his teeth. He looked
up suddenly through the distorting
lenses. “Of course a failure now
would mean — well, absolute col-
lapse,” he said,

Harris nodded. He was think-
ing of the year of incredibly pains-
taking work that lay behind this
meeting, the immense fund of
knowledge, of infinite patience, the
secret collaboration of artists, sculp-
tors, designers, scientists, and the
genius of Maltzer governing them
all as an orchestra conductor gov-
erns his players.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

He was thinking too, with a cer-
tain unreasoning jealousy, of the
strange, cold, passionless intimacy
between Maltzer and Deirdre in that
year, a closer intimacy than any two
humans can ever have shared be-
fore, In a sense the Deirdre whom
he saw in a few minutes would be
Maltzer, just as he thought he de-
tected in Maltzer now and then
small mannerisms of inflection and
motion that had been Deirdre’s
own. There had been between them
a sort of unimaginable marriage
stranger than anything that could
ever have taken place before.

“ — so many complications,”

Maltzer was saying in his worried
voice with its faintest possible echo
of Deirdre’s lovely, cadenced
rhythm. (The sweet, soft huski-
ness he would never hear again.)
“There was shock, of course. Ter-
rible shock. And a great fear of
fire. We had to conquer that be-
fore we could take the first steps.
But we did it. When you go in
you’ll probably find her sitting be-
fore the fire.” He caught the star-
tled question in Harris’ eyes and
smiled. “No, she can’t feel the
warmth now, of course. But she
likes to watch the flames. She’s
mastered any abnormal fear of
them quite beautifully.”

“She can — ” Harris hesitated.
“Her eyesight’s normal now?”
“Perfect,” Maltzer said. “Per-
fect vision was fairly simple to
provide. After all, that sort of
thing has already been worked out,
in other connections. I might even
say her vision’s a little better than
perfect, from our own standpoint.”

He shook his head irritably. “I’m
not worried about the mechanics of
the thing. Luckily they got to her >
before’ the brain was touched at all.
Shock was the only danger to her
sensory centers, and we took care
of all that first of all, as soon as
communication could be established.
Even so, it needed great courage
on her part. Great courage.” He
was silent for a moment, staring
into his empty glass.

“Harris,” he said suddenly, with-
out looking up, “have I made a mis-
take ? Should we have let her
die?”

Harris shook his head helplessly.

It was an unanswerable question.

It had tormented the whole world
for a year now. There had been
hundreds of answers and thousands
of words written on the subject.
Has anyone the right to preserve a
brain alive when its body is de-
stroyed? Even if a new body can
be provided, necessarily so very un-
like the old?

“It’s not that she’s — ugly — now,”
Maltzer went on hurriedly, as if
afraid of an answer. “Metal isn’t
ugly. And Deirdre . . . well, you’ll
see. I tell you, I can’t see myself.

I know the whole mechanism so
well — it’s just mechanics to me.
Maybe she’s — grotesque. I don’t
know. Often I’ve wished I hadn’t
been on the spot, with all my ideas,
just when the fire broke out. Or
that it could have been anyone but
Deirdre. She was so beautiful —
Still, if it had been someone else I
think the whole thing might have
failed completely. It takes more
than just an uninjured brain. It

NO WOMAN B OK N

397

takes strength and courage beyond
common, and — well, something
more. Something — unquenchable.

Deirclre has it. She’s still Deirdre.
In a way she’s still beautiful. But
I’m not sure anybody but myself
could see that. And you know
what she plans?”

.“No — what?”

“She’s going back on the air-
screen.”

Harris looked at him in stunned
disbelief.

“She is still beautiful,” Maltzer
told him fiercely. “She’s got cour-
age, and a serenity that amazes me.
And she isn’t in the least worried
or resentful about what’s happened.
Or afraid what the verdict of the
public will be. But I am, Harris.
1’tn terrified.”

They looked at each other for a
moment more, neither speaking.
Then Maltzer shrugged and stood
up.

“She’s in there,” he said, gestur-
ing with his glass.

Harris turned without a word,
not giving himself time to hesitate.
He crossed toward the inner door.

The room was full of a soft,
clear, indirect light that climaxed
in the fire crackling on a white
tiled hearth. Harris paused inside
the door, his heart beating thickly.
He did not see her for a moment.
It was a perfectly commonplace
room, bright, light, with pleasant
furniture, and flowers on the tables.
Their perfume was sweet on the
dear air. He did not see Deirdre.

Then a chair by the fire creaked
as she shifted her weight in it.

The high back hid her, but she
spoke. And for one dreadful mo-
ment it was the voice of an automa-
ton that sounded in the room, metal-
lic, without inflection.

“Hel-lo — ” said the voice. Then
she laughed and tried again. And
it was the old, familiar, sweet
huskiness he had not hoped to hear
again as long as he lived.

In spite of himself he said,
“Deirdre!” and her image rose be-
fore him as if she herself had risen
unchanged from the chair, tall,
golden, swaying a little with her
wonderful dancer’s poise, the lovely,
imperfect features lighted by the
glow that made them beautiful. It
was the crudest thing his memory
could have done to him. And yet
the voice — after that one lapse, the
voice was perfect.

“Come and look at me, John,”
she said.

He crossed the floor slowly, forc-
ing himself to move. That instant’s
flash of vivid recollection had
nearly wrecked his hard-won poise.
He tried to keep his mind perfectly
blank as he came at last to the
verge of seeing what no one but
Maltzer had so far seen or known
about in its entirety. No one at
all had known what shape would be
forged to clothe the most beautiful
woman on Earth, now that her
beauty was gone.

He had envisioned many shapes.
Great, lurching robot forms, cylin-
drical, with hinged arms and legs.
A glass case with the brain float-
ing in it and appendages to serve
its needs. Grotesque visions, like
nightmares come nearly true. And

138

ASTOUNDTXfi SCIENCE FICTION

each more inadequate than the last,
for what metal shape could possibly
do more than house ungraciously
the mind and brain that had once
enchanted a whole world ?

Then he came around the wing of
the chair, and saw her.

The human brain is often too
complicated a mechanism to func-
tion perfectly. Harris’ brain was
called upon now to perform a very
elaborate series of shifting impres-
sions. First, incongruously, he re-
membered a curious inhuman figure
he had once glimpsed leaning over
the fence rail outside a farmhouse.
For an instant the shape had stood
up integrated, ungainly, impossibly
human, before the glancing eye re-
solved it into an arrangement of
brooms and buckets. What the eye
had found only roughly humanoid,
the suggestible Drain had accepted
fully formed. It was thus now,
with Deirdre.

The first impression that his eyes
and mind took from sight of her
was shocked and incredulous, for
his brain said to him unbelievingly,
"This is Deirdre' She hasn’t
changed at all!”

Then the shift of perspective
took over, and even more shock-
ingly, eye and brain said, “No, not
Deirdre — not human. Nothing but
metal coils. Not Deirdre at all — ”
And that Was the worst. It was like
walking from a dream of someone
beloved and lost, and facing anew,
after that heartbreaking reassur-
ance of sleep, the inflexible fact that
nothing can bring the lost to life
again. Deirdre was gone, and this

was only machinery heaped in a
flowered chair.

Then the machinery moved, ex-
quisitely, smoothly, with a grace as
familiar as the swaying poise he
remembered. The sweet, husky
voice of Deirdre said,

“It’s me, John darling. It really
is, you know.”

And it was.

That was the third metamorpho-
sis, and the final one. Illusion
steadied and became factual, real.
It was Deirdre.

He sat down bonelessly. He had
no muscles. Fie looked at her
speechless and unthinking, letting
his senses take in the sight of her
without trying to rationalize what
he saw.

She was golden still. They had
kept that much of her, the first im-
pression of warmth and color which
had once belonged to her sleek hair
and the apricot tints of her skin.
But they had had the good sense to
go no farther. They had not tried
to make a wax image of the lost
Deirdre. (No woman horn who
was so beautiful — Not one so
beautiful, of all the women born — )

And so she had no face. She
had only a smooth, delicately mod-
eled ovoid for her head, with a . . .
a sort of crescent-shaped mask
across the frontal area where her
eyes would have been if she had
needed eyes. A narrow, curved
quarter-moon, with the horns turned
upward. It was filled in with some-
thing translucent, like cloudy crys-
tal, and tinted the aquamarine of
the eyes Deirdre used to have.

HO WOMAN BORN

Through that, then, she saw the
world. Through that she looked
without eyes, and behind it, as be-
hind the eyes of a human — she was.

Except for that, she had no fea-
tures. And it had been wise of
those who designed her, he realized
now. Subconsciously he had been
dreading some clumsy attempt at
human features that might creak
like a marionette’s in parodies of
animation. The eyes, perhaps, had
had to open in the same place upon
her head, and at the same distance
apart, to make easy for her an ad-
justment to the stereoscopic vision
she used to have. But he was glad
they had not given her two eye-
shaped openings with glass marbles
inside them. The mask was better.

(Oddly enough, he did not once
think of the naked brain that must
lie inside the metal. The mask was
symbol enough for the woman
within. It was enigmatic; you did
not know if her gaze was on you
searchingly, or wholly withdrawn.
And it had no variations of bril-
liance such as once had played
across the incomparable mobility of
Deirdre’s face. But eyes, even hu-
man eyes, are as a matter of fact
enigmatic enough. They have no
expression except what the lids im-
part ; they take all animation from
the features. We automatically
watch the eyes of the friend we
speak with, but if he happens to be
lying down so that he speaks across
his shoulder and his face is upside-
down to us, quite as automatically
we watch the mouth. The gaze
keeps shifting nervously between
mouth and eyes in their reversed or-

140

der, for it is the position in the
face, not the feature itself, which
we are accustomed to accept as the
seat of the soul. Deirdre’s mask
was in that proper place ; it was easy
to accept it as a mask over eyes.)

She had, Harris realized as the
first shock quieted, a very beauti-
fully shaped head — a bare, golden
skull. She turned it a little, grace-
fully upon her neck of metal, and
he saw that the artist who shaped
it had given her the most delicate
suggestion of cheekbones, narrow-
ing in the blankness below the mask
to the hint of a human face. Not
too much. Just enough so that
when the head turned you saw by
its modeling that it had moved,
lending perspective and foreshort-
ening to the expressionless golden
helmet. Light did not slip uninter-
rupted as if over the surface of a
golden egg. Brancusi himself had
never made anything more simple
or more subtle than the modeling of
Deirdre’s head.

But all expression, of course, was
gone. All expression had gone up
in the smoke of the theater fire,
with the lovely, mobile, radiant fea-
tures which had meant Deirdre.

As for her body, he could not
see its shape. A garment hid her.
But they had made no incongruous
attempt to give her back the cloth-
ing that once had made her famous.
Even the softness of cloth would
have called the mind too sharply to
the remembrance that no human
body lay beneath the folds, nor
does metal need the incongruity of
doth for its protection. Yet with-
out garments, he realized, she would

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

have looked oddly naked, since her
new body was humanoid, not angu-
lar machinery.

The designer had solved his para-
dox by giving her a robe of very
fine metal mesh. It hung from the
gentle slope of her shoulders in
straight, pliant folds like a longer
Grecian chlamys, flexible, yet with
weight enough of its own not to
cling too revealingly to whatever
metal shape lay beneath.

The arms they had given her were
left bare, and the feet and ankles.
And Maltzer had performed his
greatest miracle in the limbs of the
new Deirdre. It was a mechanical
miracle basically, but the eye appre-
ciated first that he had also showed
supreme artistry and understand-
ing.

Her arms were pale shining
gold, tapered smoothly, without
modeling, and flexible their whole
length in diminishing metal brace-
lets fitting one inside the other clear
down to the slim, round wrists.
The hands were more nearly human
than any other feature about her,
though they, too, were fitted to-
gether in delicate, small sections
that slid upon one another with the
flexibility almost of flesh. The fin-
gers’ bases were solider than hu-
man, and the fingers themselves
tapered to longer tips.

Her feet, too, beneath the taper-
ing broader rings of the metal
ankles, had been constructed upon
the model of human feet. Their
finely tooled sliding segments gave
her an arch and a heel and a flexible

j NO WOMAN BORN

>41 .

forward section formed almost like
the sollcrets of medieval armor.

She looked, indeed, very much
like a creature in armor, with her
delicately plated limbs and her fea-
tureless head like a helmet with a
visor of glass, and her robe of
chain-mail. But no knight in armor
ever moved as Deirdre moved, or
wore his armor upon a body of
such inhumanly fine proportions.
Only a knight from another world,
. or a knight of Oberon’s court, might
have shared that delicate likeness.

Briefly he had been surprised at
the smallness and exquisite propor-
tions of her. He hacl been expect-
ing the ponderous mass of such
robots as he had seen, wholly au-
tomatons. And then he realized
that for them, much of the space
had to be devoted to the inadequate
mechanical brains that guided them
about their duties. Deirdre’s brain
still preserved and proved the crafts-
manship of an artisan far defter
than man. Only the body was of
metal, and it did not seem complex,
though he had not yet been told
how it was motivated.

Harris had no idea how long
he sat staring at the figure in the
cushioned chair. She was still
lovely — indeed, she was still Deir-
dre— and as he looked he let the
careful schooling of his face relax.
There was no need to hide his
thought from her.

She stirred upon the cushions,
the long, flexible arms moving with
a litheness that was not quite hu-
man. The motion disturbed him
as the body itself had not, and in

m

spite of himself his face froze a lit-
tle. He had the feeling that from
behind the crescent mask she was
watching him very closely.

Slowly she rose.

The motion was very smooth.
Also it was serpentine, as if the
body beneath the coat of mail were
made in the same interlocking sec-
tions as her limbs. He had ex-
pected and feared mechanical ri-
gidity ; nothing had prepared him
for this more than human supple-
ness.

She stood quietly, letting the
heavy mailed folds of her garment
settle about her. They fell together
with a faint ringing sound, like
small bells far off, and hung beau-
tifully in pale golden, sculptured
folds. He had risen automatically
as she did. Now he faced her,
staring. He had never seen her
stand perfectly still, and she was not
doing it now. She swayed just a
bit, vitality burning inextinguish-
ably in her brain as once it had
burned in her body, and stolid
immobility was as impossible to her
as it had always been. The golden
garment caught points of light from
the fire and glimmered at him with
tiny reflections as she moved.

Then she put her featureless hel-
meted head a little to one side,
and he heard her laughter as fa-
miliar in its small, throaty, inti-
mate sound as he had ever heard
it from her living throat. And
every gesture, every attitude, every
flowing of motion into motion was
so utterly Deirdre that the over-
whelming illusion swept his mind
again and this was the flesh-and-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

blood woman as dearly as if he saw
her standing there whole once more,
like Phoenix from the fire.

“Well, John,” she said in the
soft, husky, amused voice he re-
membered perfectly. “Well, John,
is it I?” She knew it was. Per-
fect assurance sounded in the voice.
“The shock will wear off, you know.
It’ll be easier and easier as time
goes on. I’m quite used to myself
now. See ?”

She turned away from him and
crossed the room smoothly, with the
old, poised, dancer’s glide, to the
mirror that paneled one side of the
room. And before it, as he had so
often seen her preen before, he
watched her preening now, running
flexible metallic hands down the
folds of her metal garment, turn-
ing to admire herself over one metal
shoulder, making the mailed folds
tinkle and sway as she struck an
arabesque position before the glass.

His knees let him down into the
chair she had vacated. Mingled
shock and relief loosened all his
muscles in him, and she was more
poised and confident than he.

“It’s a miracle,” he said with con-
viction. “It’s you. But I don’t see
how — ” He had meant, " — how,
without face or body — ” but clearly
he could not finish that sentence.

She finished it for him in her own
mind, and. answered without self-
consciousness. “It’s motion,
mostly,” she said, still admiring her
own suppleness in the mirror.
“See?” And very lightly on her
springy, armored feet she flashed
through an enchainment of brilliant
steps, swinging round with a pirou-

ette to face him. “That was what
Maltzer and I worked out between
us, after I began to get myself un-
der control again.” Her voice was
somber for a moment, remembering
a dark time in the past. Then she
went on, “It wasn’t easy, of course,
but it was fascinating. You’ll
never guess how fascinating, John !
We knew we couldn’t work out
anything like a facsimile of the way
I used to look, so we had to find
some other basis to build on. And
motion is the other basis of recog-
nition, after actual physical like-
ness.”

She moved lightly across the car-
pet toward the window and stood
looking down, her featureless face
averted a little and the light shining
across the delicately hinted curves
of the cheekbones.

“Luckily,” she said, her voice
amused, “I never was beautiful. It
was all — well vivacity, I suppose,
and muscular co-ordination. Years
and years of training, and all of it
engraved here” — she struck her
golden helmet a light, ringing blow
with golden knuckles — “in the habit
patterns grooved into my brain. So
this body . . . did he tell you? . . .
works entirely through the brain.
Electromagnetic currents flowing
along from ring to ring, like this.”
She rippled a boneless arm at him
with a motion like flowing water.
“Nothing holds me together — noth-
ing!— except muscles of magnetic
currents. And if I’d been some-
body else — somebody who moved
differently, why the flexible rings
would have moved differently too,
guided by the impulse from another

143

NO WOMAN BORN

brain. I'm not conscious of doing
anything I haven’t always done.
'The same impulses that used to go
out to my muscles go out now to —
this.” And she made a shuddering,
serpentine motion of both arms at
him. like a Cambodian dancer, and
then laughed wholeheartedly, the
sound of it ringing through the
room with such full-throated mer-
riment that he could not help seeing
again the familiar face crinkled
with pleasure, the white teeth shin-
ing. “It’s all perfectly subconscious
now,” she told him. “It took lots
of practice at first, of course, but
now even my signature looks just
as it always did — the co-ordination
is duplicated that delicately.” She
rippled her arms at him again and
chuckled.

“But the voice, too,” Harris pro-
tested inadequately. “It’s your
voice, Deirdre.”

“The voice isn’t only a matter of
throat construction and breath con-
trol. my darling Johnnie! At least,
so Professor Maltzer assured me a
year ago, and I certainly haven’t any
reason to doubt him !” She laughed
again. She was laughing a little
too much, with a touch of the
bright, hysteric overexcitement he
remembered so well. But if any
woman ever had reason for mild
hysteria, surely Deirdre had it now.

The laughter rippled and ended,
and she went on, her voice eager.
“He says voice control is almost
wholly a matter of hearing what
you produce, once you’ve got ade-
quate mechanism, of course. That’s
why deaf people, with the same

144

vocal chords as ever, let their voices
change completely and lose all in-
flection when they’ve been deaf
long enough. And luckily, you see,
I’m not deaf !”

She swung around to him. the
folds of her robe twinkling and
ringing, and rippled up and up a
clear, true scale to a lovely high
note, and then cascaded down again
like water over a falls. But she left
him no time for applause. “Per-
fectly simple, you see. All it took
was a little matter of genius from
the professor to get it worked out
for me! He started with a new
variation of the old Vodor you must
remember hearing about, years ago.
Originally, of course, the thing was
ponderous. You know how it
worked — speech broken down to a
few basic sounds and built up again
in combinations produced from a
keyboard. I think originally the
sounds were a sort of ktch and a
shooshing noise, but we’ve got it all
worked out to a flexibility and range
quite as good as human now. All
I do is — well, mentally play on the
keyboard of my . . . my sound-unit,
I suppose it's called. It’s much
more complicated than that, of
course, but I’ve learned to do it un-
consciously. And I regulate it by
ear, quite automatically now. If
you were— here — instead of me, and
you’d had the same practice, your
own voice would be coming out of
the same keyboard and diaphragm
instead of mine. It’s all a matter
of the brain patterns that operated
the body and now operate the ma-
chinery. They send out very strong
impulses that are stepped up as

ASTOUNDING 8CIHNCK -FICTION

much as necessary somewhere or
other in here — ” Her hands waved
vaguely over the mesh-robed body.

She was silent a momeht, look-
ing out the window. Then she
turned away and crossed the floor
to the fire, sinking again into the
flowered chair. Her helmet-skull
turned its mask to face him and he
could feel a quiet scrutiny behind
the aquamarine of its gaze.

“It’s — odd,” she said, “being here
in this . . . this . . . instead of a
body. But not as odd or as alien as
you might think. I’ve thought about
it a lot — I’ve had plenty of time to
think — and I’ve begun to realize
what a tremendous force the human
ego really is. I’m not sure I want
to suggest it has any mystical power
it can impress on mechanical things,
but it does seem to have a power of
some sort. It does instill its own
force into inanimate objects, and
they take on a personality of their
own. People do impress their per-
sonalities on the houses they live
in, you know. I’ve noticed that
often. Even empty rooms. Apd it
happens with other things too, espe-
cially, I think, with inanimate things
that men depend on for their lives.
Ships, for instance — they always
have personalities of their own.

“And planes — in wars you always
hear of planes crippled too badly
to fly, but struggling back anyhow
with their crews. Even guns ac-
quire a sort of ego. Ships and guns
and planes are ‘she’ to the men who
operate them and depend on them
for their lives. It’s as if machinery
with complicated moving parts al-
most simulates life, and does ac-

quire from the men who use it—
well, not exactly life, of course —
but a personality. I don’t know
what. Maybe it absorbs some of
the actual electrical impulses their
brains throw off, especially in times
of stress.

“Well, after awhile I began to
accept the idea that this new body
of mine could behave at least as re-
sponsively as a ship or a plane.
Quite apart from the fact that my
own brain controls its ‘muscles.’ I
believe there’s an affinity between
men and the machines they make.
They make them out of their own
brains, really, a sort of mental con-
ception and gestation, and the re-
sult responds to the minds that cre-
ated them, and to all human minds
that understand and manipulate
them.”

She stirred uneasily and smoothed
a flexible hand along her mesh-
robed metal thigh. “So this is my-
self,” she said. “Metal — but me.
And it grows more and more my-
self the longer I live in it. It’s my
house and the machine my life de-
pends on, but much more intimately
in each case than any real house or
machine ever was before to any
other human. And you know, I
wonder if in time I’ll forget what
flesh felt like — my own flesh, when
I touched it like this — and the metal
against the metal will be so much
the same I’ll never even notice?”

Harris did not try to answer her.
He sat without moving, watching
her expressionless face. In a mo-
ment she went on,

“I’ll tell you the best thing, John,”
she said, her voice softening to the

NO WOMAN BORN

145

old Intimacy he remembered so well
that he could see superimposed
upon the blank skull the warm, in-
tent look that belonged with the
voice. “I’m not going to live for-
ever. It may not sound like a —
best thing — but it is, John. You
know, for awhile that was the worst
of all, after I knew I was — after I
woke up again. The thought of liv-
ing on and on in a body that wasn’t
mine, seeing everyone I knew grow
old and die, and not being able to
stop —

“But Maltzer says my brain will
probably wear out quite normally —
except, of course, that I won’t have
to worry about looking old! — and
when it gets tired and stops, the
body I’m in won’t be any longer.
The magnetic muscles that hold it
into my own shape and motions will
let go when the brain lets go, and
there’ll be nothing but a ... a pile
of disconnected rings. If they ever
assemble it again, it won’t be me.”
She hesitated. “I like that, John,”
she said, and he felt from behind
the mask a searching of his face.

He knew and understood that
somber satisfaction. He could not
put it into words; neither of them
wanted to do that. But he under-
stood. It was the conviction of mor-
tality, in spite of her immortal body.
She was not cut off from the rest of
her race in the essence of their hu-
manity, for though she wore a body
of steel and they perishable flesh,
yet she must perish too, and the
same fears and faiths still united
her to mortals and humans, though
she wore the body of Oberon’s in-
human knight. Even in her death

nc

she must be unique — dissolution in
a shower of tinkling and clashing
rings, he thought, and almost envied
her the finality and beauty of that
particular death — but afterward,
oneness with humanity in however
much or little awaited them all.
So she could feel that this exile
in metal was only temporary, in
spite of everything.

(And providing, of course, that
the mind inside the metal did not
veer from its inherited humanity
as the years went by. A dweller
in a house may impress his per-
sonality upon the walls, but subtly
the walls too, may impress their
own shape upon the ego of the
man. Neither of them thought of
that, at the time.)

Deirdre sat a moment longer in
silence. Then the mood vanished
and she rose again, spinning so
that the robe belled out ringing
about her ankles. She rippled an-
other scale up and down, faultlessly
and with the same familiar sweet-
ness of tone that had made her
famous.

“So I’m going right back on the
stage, John,” she said serenely. “I
can still sing. I can still dance.
I’m still myself in everything that
matters, and I can’t imagine doing
anything else for the rest of my
life.”

He could not answer without
stammering a little. “Do you think
. . . will they accept you, Deirdre?
After all—”

“They’ll accept me,” she said in
that confident voice. “Oh, they’ll
come to see a freak at first, of

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

course, but they'll stay to watch —
Deirdre. And come back again and
again just as they always did.
You’ll see, my dear.”

But hearing her sureness, sud-
denly Harris himself was unsure.
Maltzer had not been, either. She
was so regally confident, and dis-
appointment would 'be so deadly a
blow at all that remained of her —

She was so delicate a being now.
really. Nothing but a glowing and
radiant mind poised in metal,
dominating it, bending the steel to
the illusion of her lost loveliness
with a sheer self-confidence that
gleamed through the metal body.
But the brain sat delicately on its
poise of reason. She had been
through intolerable stresses already,
perhaps more terrible depths of
despair and self-knowledge than
any human brain had yet endured
before her, for — since Lazarus him-
self— who had come back from the
dead ?

But if the world did not accept
her as beautiful, what then? If
they laughed, or pitied her, or came
only to watch a jointed freak per-,
forming as if on strings where the
loveliness of Deirdre had once
enchanted them, what then? And
he could not be perfectly sure they
would not. He had known her too
well in the flesh to see her objec-
tively even now, in metal. Every
inflection of her voice called up the
vivid memory of the face that had
flashed its evanescent beauty in
some look to match the tone. She
was Deirdre to Harris simply be-
cause she had been so intimately
familiar in every poise and attitude,

through so many years. But peo-
ple who knew her only slightly, or
saw her for the first time in metal—
what would they see?

A marionette? Or the real grace
and loveliness shining through?

He had no possible way of know-
ing. He saw her too clearly as she
had been to see her now at all, ex-
cept so linked with the past that she
was not wholly metal. And he
knew what Maltzer feared, for
Maltzer’s psychic blindness toward
her lay at the other extreme. He
had never known Deirdre except
as a machine, and he could not see
her objectively any more than Har-
ris could. To Maltzer she was pure
metal, a robot his own hands and
brain had devised, mysteriously ani-
mated by the mind of Deirdre, to be
sure, but to all outward seeming a
thing of metal solely. He had
worked so long over each intricate
part of her body, he knew so well
how every jointure in it was put to-
gether. that he could not see the
whole. He had studied many film
records of her, of course, as she
used to be, in order to gauge the
accuracy of his facsimile, but this
thing he had. made was a copy only.
He was too close to Deirdre to see
her. And Harris, in a way, was
too far. The indomitable Deirdre
herself shone so vividly through
the metal that his mind kept super-
imposing one upon the other.

How would an audience react to
her? Where in the scale between
these two extremes would their ver-
dict fall?

For Deirdre. there was only one
possible answer.

NO WOMAN BORN

AST— 6S 147

“I’m not worried,” Deirdre said
serenely, and spread her golden
hands to the fire to watch lights
dancing in reflection upon their
shining surfaces. “I’m still my-
self. I’ve always had . . . well,
power over my audiences. Any
good performer knows when he’s
got it. Mine isn’t gone. I can still
give them what I always gave, only
now with greater variations and
more depths than I’d ever have done
before. Why, look — ” She gave a
little wriggle of excitement.

“You know the .arabesque prin-
ciple— getting the longest possible
distance from fingertip to toetip
with a long, slow curve through the
whole length? And the brace of
the other leg and arm giving con-
trast? Well, look at me. I don’t
work on hinges now. I can make
every motion a long curve if I want
to. My . body’s different enough
now to work out a whole new school
of dancing. Of course there’ll be
things I used to do that I won’t at-
tempt now — no more dancing sur
les point es, for instance — but the
new things will more than balance
the loss. I’ve been practicing. Do
you know I can turn a hundred
fouettes now without a flaw ? And
I think I could go right on and turn
a thousand, if I wanted.”

She made the firelight flash on
her hands, and her robe rang musi-
cally as she moved her shoulders a
little. “I’ve already worked out
one new dance for myself,” she
said. “God knows I’m no choreog-
rapher, but I did want to experi-
ment first. Later, you know, really
creative men like Massanchine or

148

Fokhileff may want to do something
entirely new for me — a whole new
sequence of movements based on a
new technique. And music— that
could be quite different, too. Oh,
there’s no end to the possibilities!
Even my voice has more range and
power. Luckily I’m not an actress
— it would be silly to try to play
Camille or Juliet with a cast of ordi-
nary people. Not that I couldn’t,
you know.” She turned her head
to stare at Harris through the mask
of glass. “I honestly think I could.
But it isn’t necessary. There’s too
much else. Oh, I’m not worried!”

“Maltzer’s worried,” Harris re-
minded her.

She swung away from the fire,
her metal robe ringing, and into
her voice came the old note of dis-
tress that went with a furrowing of
her forehead and a sidewise tilt of
the head. The head went sidewise
as it had always done, and he could
see the furrowed brow almost as
clearly as if flesh still clothed her.

“I know. And I’m worried about
him, John. He’s worked so' aw-
fully hard over me. This is the
doldrums now, the let-down period,
I suppose. I know what’s on his
mind. He’s afraid I’ll look just
the same to the world as I look to
him. Tooled metal. He’s in a po-
sition no one ever quite achieved
before, isn’t he? Rather like God.”
Her voice rippled a little with
amusement. “I suppose to God we
must look like a collection of cells
and corpuscles ourselves. But Malt-
zer lacks a god’s detached view-
point.”

“He can’t see you as I do, any-
ASTOONDING SCIENCE-FICTION

how,” Harris was choosing his
words with difficulty, “I wonder,
though — would it help him any if
you postponed your debut awhile?
You’ve been with him too closely,
I think. You don't quite realize
how near a breakdown he is. I was
shocked when I saw him just now.”

The golden head shook. “No.
He’s close to a breaking point,
maybe, but I think the only cure’s
action. He wants me to retire and
stay out of sight, John. Always.
He’s afraid for anyone to see me
except a few old friends who re-
member me as I was. People he
can trust to be — kind.” She laughed.
It was very strange to hear that
ripple of mirth from the blank, un-
featured skull. Harris was seized
with sudden panic at the thought of
what reaction it might evoke in an
audience of strangers. As if he had
spoken the fear aloud, her voice
denied it. “I don’t need kindness.
And it’s no kindness to Maltzer to
hide me under a bushel. He has
worked too hard, I know. He’s
driven himself to a breaking point.
But it’ll be a complete negation of
all he’s worked for if I hide myself
now. You don’t know what a tre-
mendous lot of geniuses and ar-
tistry went into me, John. The
whole idea from the start was to re-
create what I’d lost so that it could
be proved that beauty and talent
need not be sacrificed by the de-
struction of parts or all the body.

“It wasn’t only for me that we
meant to prove that. There’ll be
others who suffer injuries that once
might have ruined them. This was
to end all suffering like that for-

ever. It was Maltzer’s gift to the
whole race as well as to me. He’s
really a humanitarian, John, like
most great men. He’d never have
given up a year of his life to this
work if it had been for any one in-
dividual alone. He was seeing thou-
sands of others beyond me as he
worked. And I won’t let him ruin
all he’s achieved because he’s afraid
to prove it now he’s got it. The
whole wonderful achievement will
be worthless it I don’t take the final
step, I think his breakdown, in
the end, would be worse and more
final if I never tried than if I tried
and failed.”

Harris sat in silence. There was
no answer he could make to that.
Pie hoped the little twinge of shame-
faced jealousy he suddenly felt did
not show, as he was reminded anew
of the intimacy closer than marriage
which had of necessity bound these
two together. And he knew that
any reaction of his would in its way
be almost as prejudiced as Malt-
zer’s, for a reason at once the same
and entirely opposite. Except that
he himself came fresh to the prob-
lem, while Maltzer’s viewpoint was
colored by a year of overwork and
physical and mental exhaustion.

“What are you going to do ?” he
asked.

She was standing before the fire
when he spoke, swaying just a lit-
tle so that highlights danced all
along her golden body. Now she
turned with a serpentine grace and
sank into the cushioned chair beside
her. It came to him suddenly that
she was much more than humanly

NO WOMAN BORN

149

graceful — quite as much as he had
once feared she would be less than
human.

“I’ve already arranged for a per-
formance,” she told him, her voice
a little shaken with a familiar mix-
ture of excitement and defiance.

Harris sat up with a start. “How?
Where ? There hasn’t been any pub-
licity at all yet, has there? I didn’t
know — ”

“Now, now, Johnnie,” her
amused voice soothed him. “You’ll
be handling everything just as usual
once I get started back to work —
that is, if you still want to. But
this I’ve arranged for myself. It’s
. going to be a surprise. I ... I
felt it had to be a surprise.” She
wriggled a little among the
cushions. “Audience psychology is
something I’ve always felt rather
than known, and I do feel this is
the way. it ought to be done. There’s
no precedent. Nothing like this
ever happened before. I’ll have to
go by my own intuition.”

“You mean it’s to be a complete
surprise ?”

“I think it must be. I don’t want
the audience coming in with pre-
conceived ideas. I want them to
see me exactly as I am now first,
before they know who or what
they’re Seeing. They must realize
I can still give as good a perform-
ance as ever before they remember
and compare it with my past per-
formances. I don’t want them to
come ready to pity my handicaps —
I haven’t got any ! — or full of mor-
bid curiosity.’ So I’m going on the
air after the regular eight-o’clock
telecast of the feature from Teleo

MO

City. I’m just going to do one spe-
cialty in the usual vaude program.
It’s all been arranged. They’ll build
up to it, of course, as the highlight
of the evening, but they aren’t to
say who I am until the end of the
performance — if the audience hasn’t
rceognized me already, by then.”

“Audience ?”

“Of course. Surely you haven’t
forgotten they still play to a theater
audience at Teleo City? That’s
why I want to make my debut there.
I’ve always played better when there
were people in the studio, so I
could gauge reactions. I think most
performers do. Anyhow, it’s all
arranged.”

“Does Maltzer know?”

She wriggled uncomfortably.
“Not yet.”

“But he’ll have to give his per-
mission too, won’t he? I mean — ”

“Now look, John! That’s an-
other idea you and Maltzer will
have to get out of your minds. I
don’t belong to him. In a way he’s
just been my doctor through a long
illness, but I’m free to discharge
him whenever I choose. If there
were ever any legal disagreement,
I suppose he’d be entitled to quite a
lot of money for the work he’s done
on my new body — for the body it-
self, really, since it’s his own ma-
chine, in one sense. But he doesn’t
own it, or me. I’m not sure just
how the question would be decided
by the courts — there again, we’ve
got a problem without precedent.
The body may be his work, but the
brain that makes it something more
than a collection of metal rings is
me, and he couldn’t restrain me

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

against my will even if he wanted
to. Not legally, and not — ” She
hesitated oddly and looked away.
For the first time Harris was aware
of something beneath the surface
of her mind which was quite strange
to him.

“Well, anyhow,” she went on,
“that question won’t come up.
Maltzer and I have been much too
close in the past year to clash over
anything as essential as this. He
knows in his heart that I’m right,
and he won’t try to restrain me. His
work won’t be completed until I do
what I was built to do. And I in-
tend to do it.”

That strange little quiver of
something — something un-Deirdre
— which had so briefly trembled be-
neath the surface of familiarity
stuck in Harris’ mind as something
he must recall and examine later.
Now he said only,

“All right. I suppose I agree
with you. How soon are you go-
ing to do it?”

She turned her head so that even
the glass mask through which she
looked out at the world was fore-
shortened away from him, and the
golden helmet with its hint of sculp-
tured cheekbone was entirely enig-
matic.

“Tonight,” she said.

Maltzer’s thin hand shook so
badly that he could not turn the
dial. He tried twice and then
laughed nervously and shrugged at
Harris.

“You get her,” he said.

Harris glanced at his watch. “It

isn’t time yet. She won’t be on for
half an hour.”

Maltzer made a gesture of vio-
lent impatience. “Get it, get it!”

Harris shrugged a little in turn
and twisted the dial. On the tilted
screen above them shadows and
sound blurred together and then
clarified into a somber medieval hall,
vast, vaulted, people in bright cos-
tume moving like pygmies through
its dimness. Since the play con-
cerned Mary of Scotland, the actors
were dressed in something approxi-
mating Elizabethan garb, but as
every era tends to translate costume
into terms of the current fashions,
the women’s hair was dressed in a
style that would have startled Eliza-
beth, and their footgear was en-
tirely anachronistic.

The hall dissolved and a face
swam up into soft focus upon the
screen. The dark, lush beauty of

NO WOMAN BORN

m

' the actress who was playing the
Stuart queen glowed at them in
velvety perfection from the clouds
of her pearl-strewn hair. Maltzer
groaned.

“She’s competing with that,” he
said hollowly.

“You think she can’t?”

Maltzer slapped the chair arms
with angry palms. Then the quiv-
ering of his fingers seemed sud-
denly to strike him, and he mut-
tered to himself, “Look at ’em!
I’m not even fit to handle a ham-
mer and saw.” But the mutter was
an aside. “Of course she can’t
compete,” he cried irritably. “She
hasn’t any sex. She isn’t female
any more. She doesn’t know that
yet, but she’ll learn.”

Harris stared at him, feeling a
little stunned. Somehow the
thought had not occurred to him
before at all, so vividly had the
illusion of the old Deirdre hung
about the new one.

“She’s an abstraction now,” Malt-
zer went on, drumming his palms
upon the chair in quick, nervous
rhythms. “I don’t know what it’ll
do to her, but there’ll be change.
Remember Abelard ? She’s lost
everything that made her essen-
tially what the public wanted, and
she’s going to find it out the hard
way. After that — ” He grimaced
savagely and was silent.

“She hasn’t lost everything,” Har-
ris defended. “She can dance and
sing as well as ever, maybe better.
She still has grace and charm
and — ”

“Yes, but where did the grace
and charm come from ? Not out of

152

the habit patterns in her brain. No,'
out of human contacts, out of all
the things that stimulate sensitive
minds to creativeness. And she’s
lost three of her five senses. Every-
thing she can’t see and hear is gone.
One of the strongest stimuli to a
woman of her type was the knowl-
edge of sex competition. You know
how she sparkled when a man came
into the room? All that’s gone,
and it was an essential. You know
how liquor stimulated her? She’s
lost that. She couldn’t taste food
or drink even if she needed it. Per-
fume, flowers, all the odors we re-
spond to mean nothing to her now.
She can’t feel anything with tactual
delicacy any more. She used to
surround herself with luxuries —
she drew her stimuli from them —
and that’s all gone too. She’s with-
drawn from all physical contacts.”

He squinted at the screen, not
seeing it, his face drawn into lines
like the lines of a skull. All flesh
seemed to have dissolved off his
bones in the past year, and Harris
thought almost jealously that even
in that way he seemed to be draw-
ing nearer Deirdre in her fleshless-
ness with every passing week.

“Sight,” Maltzer said, “is the
most highly civilized of the senses.
It was the last to come. The other
senses tie us in closely with the
very roots of life; I think we per-
ceive with them more keenly than
we know. The things we realize
through taste and smell and feeling
stimulate directly, without a detour
through the centers of conscious
thought. You know how often a
taste or odor will recall a memory

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE- FICTION

to you so subtly you don’t know
exactly what caused it? We need
those primitive senses to tie us in
with nature and the race. Through
those ties Deirdre drew her vitality
without realizing it. Sight is a
cold, intellectual thing compared
with the other senses. But it’s all
she has to draw on now. She isn’t
a human being any more, and I
think what humanity is left in her
will drain out little by little and
never be replaced. Abelard, in a
way, was a prototype. But Deir-
dre’s loss is complete.”

“She isn’t human,” Harris agreed
slowly. “But she isn’t pure robot
either. She’s something somewhere
between the two, and I think it’s a
mistake to try to guess just where,
or what the outcome will be.”

“I don’t have to guess,” Maltzer
said in a grim voice. “I know. I
wish I’d let her die. I’ve done
something to her a thousand times
worse than the fire ever could. I
should have let her die in it.”

“Wait,” said Harris. “Wait and
see. I think you’re wrong.”

On the television screen Mary of
Scotland climbed the scaffold to her
doom, the gown of traditional scar-
let clinging warmly to supple young
curves as anachronistic in their way
as the slippers beneath the gown,
for — as everyone but playwrights
knows — Mary was well into middle
age before she died. Gracefully
this latter-day Mary bent her head,
sweeping the long hair aside, kneel-
ing to the block.

Maltzer watched stonily, seeing
another woman entirely.

“I shouldn’t have let her,” he was
muttering. “I shouldn’t have let
her do it.”

“Do you really think you’d have
stopped her if you could?” Harris
asked quietly. And the other man
after a moment's pause shook his
head jerkily.

“No, I suppose not. I keep
thinking if I worked and waited a
little longer maybe I could make it
easier for her, but — no, I suppose
not. She’s got to face them sooner
or later, being herself.” He stood
up abruptly, shoving back his chair.
“If she only weren’t so ... so
frail. She doesn’t realize how deli-
cately poised her very sanity is.
We gave her what we could — the
artists and the designers and I all
gave our very best — but she’s so
pitifully handicapped even with all
we could do. She’ll always be an
abstraction and a ... a freak, cut
off from the world by handicaps
worse in their way than anything
any human being ever suffered be-
fore. Sooner or later she’ll realize
it. And then — ” He began to pace
up and down with quick, uneven
steps, striking his hands together.
His face was twitching with a little
tic that drew up one eye to a squint
and released it again at irregular
intervals. Harris could see how
very near collapse the man was.

“Can you imagine what it’s like ?”
Maltzer demanded fiercely. “Penned
into a mechanical body like that,
shut out from all human contacts
except what leaks in by way of
sight and sound? To know you
aren’t human any longer? She’s
been through shocks enough al-

153

NO WOMAN BORN

ready. When that shock fully hits
her—’'

“Shut up,” said Harris roughly.
“You won’t do her any good if you
break down yourself. Look — the
vaude’s starting.”

Great golden curtains had swept
together over the unhappy Queen
of Scotland and were parting again
now, all sorrow and frustration
wiped away once more as cleanly
as the passing centuries had already
expunged them. Now a line of tiny
dancers under the tremendous arch
of the stage kicked and pranced
with the precision of little mechani-
cal dolls too small and perfect to
be real. Vision rushed down upon
them and swept along the row, face
after stiffly smiling face racketing
by like fence pickets. Then the
sight rose into the rafters and
looked down upon them from a
great height, the grotesquely fore-
shortened figures still prancing in
perfect rhythm even from this in-
human angle.

There was applause from an in-
visible audience. Then someone
came out and did a dance with
lighted torches that streamed long,
weaving ribbons of fire among
clouds of what looked like cotton
wool but was most probably as-
bestos. Then a company in gor-
geous » pseudo-period costumes pos-
tured r its way through the new
singing ballet form of dance,
roughly following a plot which had
been announced as Les Sylphides,
but had little in common with it.
Afterward the precision dancers
came on again, solemn and charm-

15*

ing as performing dolls.

Maltzer began to show signs of
dangerous tension as act succeeded
act. Deirdre’s was to^e the last,
of course. It seemed very long
indeed before a face in close-up
blotted out the stage, and a master
of ceremonies with features like an
amiable marionette’s announced a
very special number as the finale.
His voice was almost cracking with
excitement — perhaps he, too, had
not been told until a moment before
what lay in store for the audience.

Neither of the listening men
heard what it was he said, but both
were conscious of a certain inde-
finable excitement rising among the
audience, murmurs and rustlings
and a mounting anticipation as if
time had run backward here and
knowledge of the great surprise had
already broken upon them.

Then the golden curtains ap-
peared again.' They quivered and
swept apart on long upward arcs,
and between them the stage was
full of a shimmering golden haze.
It was, Harris realized in a mo-
ment, simply a series of gauze cur-
tains, but the effect was one of
strange and wonderful anticipation,
as if something very splendid must
be hidden in the haze. The world
might have looked like this on the
first morning of creation, before
heaven and earth took form in the
mind of God. It was a singularly
fortunate choice of stage set in its
symbolism, though Harris won-
dered how much necessity had fig-
ured in its selection, for there could
not have been much time to prepare
an elaborate set.

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

The audience sat perfectly silent,
and the air was tense. This was
no ordinary pause before an act.
No one had been told, surely, and
yet they seemed to guess —

The shimmering haze trembled
and began to thin, veil by veil. Be-
yond was darkness, and what looked
like a row of shining pillars set
in a balustrade that began gradu-
ally to take shape as the haze drew
back in shining folds. Now they
could see that the balustrade curved
up from left and right to the head
of a sweep of stairs. Stage and
stairs were carpeted in black vel-
vet ; black velvet draperies hung
just ajar behind the balcony, with
a glimpse of dark sky beyond them
trembling with dim synthetic stars.

The last curtain of golden gauze
withdrew. The stage was empty.
Or it seemed empty. But even
through the aerial distances between
this screen and the place it mir-
rored, Harris thought that the audi-
ence was not waiting for the per-
former to come on from the wings.
There was no rustling, no coughing,
no sense of impatience. A presence
upon the stage was in command
from the first drawing of the cur-
tains; it filled the theater with its
calm domination. It gauged its tim-
ing, holding the audience as a con-
ductor with lifted baton gathers
and holds the eyes of his orchestra.

For a moment everything was
motionless upon the stage. Then,
at the head of the stairs, where the
two curves of the pillared balustrade
swept together, a figure stirred.

Until that moment she had seemed
another shining column in the row.

Now she swayed deliberately, light
catching and winking and running
molten along her limbs and her
robe of metal mesh. She swayed
just enough to show that she was
there. Then, with every eye upon
her, she stood quietly to let them
look their fill. The screen did not
swoop to a close-up upon her. Her
enigma remained inviolate and the
television watchers saw her no more
clearly than the audience in the
theater.

Many must have thought her at
first some wonderfully animate ro-
bot, hung perhaps from wires invisi-
ble against the velvet, for certainly
she was no woman dressed in metal
— her proportions were too thin and
fine for that. And perhaps the im-
pression of robotism was what she
meant to convey at first. She stood
quiet, swaying just a little, a masked
and inscrutable figure, faceless, very
slender in her robe that hung in
folds as pure as a Grecian chlamys,
though she did not look Grecian at
all. In the visored golden helmet
and the robe of mail that odd like-
ness to knighthood was there again,
with its implications of medieval
richness behind the simple lines.
Except that in her exquisite slim-
ness she called to mind no human
figure in armor, .not even the com-
parative delicacy of a St. Joan. It
was the chivalry and delicacy of
some other world implicit in her
outlines.

A breath of surprise had rippled
over the audience when she moved.
Now they were tensely silent again,
waiting. And the tension, the an-

155

NO WOMAN BORN

tioipation, was far deeper than the
surface importance of the scene
could ever have evoked. Even those
who thought her a manikin seemed
to feel the forerunning of greater
revelations.

Now she swayed and came
slowly down the steps, moving with
a suppleness just a little better than
human. The swaying strengthened.
By the time she reached the stage
floor she was dancing. But it was
no dance that any human creature
could ever have performed. The
long, slow, languorous rhythms of
her body would have been impos-
sible to a figure hinged at its joints
as human figures hinge. (Harris
remembered incredulously that he
had feared once to find her jointed
like a mechanical robot. But it
was humanity that seemed, by con-
trast, jointed and mechanical now.)

The languor and the rhythm of
her patterns looked impromptu, as
all good dances should, but Harris
knew what hours of composition
and rehearsal must lie behind it,
what laborious graving into her
brain of strange new pathways, the
first to replace the old ones and
govern the mastery of metal limbs.

To and fro over the velvet car-
pet, against the velvet background,
she wove the intricacies of her ser-
pentine dance, leisurely and yet
with such hypnotic effect that the
air seemed full of looping rhythms,
as if her long, tapering limbs had
left their own replicas hanging upon
the air and fading only slowly as
she moved away. In her mind, Har-
ris knew, the stage was a whole, a
background to be filled in com-

16«

pletely with the measured patterns
of her dance, and she seemed almost
to project that completed pattern
to her audience so that they saw
her everywhere at once, her golden
rhythms fading upon the air long
after she had gone.

Now there was music, looping
and hanging in echoes after her
like the shining festoons she wove
with her body. But it was no
orchestral music. She was hum-
ming, deep and sweet and word-
lessly, as she glided her easy, in-
tricate path about the stage. And
the volume of the music was amaz-
ing. It seemed to fill the theater,
and it was not amplified by hidden
loudspeakers. You could tell that.
Somehow, until you heard the music
she made, you had never realized
before the subtle distortions that
amplification puts into music. This
was utterly pure and true as per-
haps no ear in all her audience had
ever heard music before.

While she danced the audience
did not seem to breathe. Perhaps
they were beginning already to sus-
pect who and what it was that moved
before them without any fanfare
of the publicity they had been half-
expecting for weeks now. And yet,
without the publicity, it was not
easy to believe the dancer they
watched was not some cunningly
motivated manikin swinging on
unseen wires about the stage.

Nothing she had done yet had
been human. The dance was no
dance a human being could have
performed. The music she hummed
came from a throat without vocal
chords. But now the long, slow

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

rhythms were drawing to their close,
the pattern tightening in to a finale.
And she ended as inhumanly as she
had danced, willing them not to in-
terrupt her with applause, dominat-
ing them now as she had always
done. For her implication here was
that a machine might have per-
formed the dance, and a machine
expects no applause. If they
thought unseen operators had put
her through those wonderful paces,
they would wait for the operators
to appear for their bows. But the
audience was obedient. It sat si-
lently, waiting for what came next.
But its silence was tense and breath-
less.

The dance ended as it had begun.
Slowly, almost carelessly, she swung
up the velvet stairs, moving with
rhythms as perfect as her music.
But when she reached the head of
the stairs she turned to face her
audience, and for a moment stood
motionless, like a creature of metal,
without volition, the hands of the
operator slack upon its strings.

Then, startlingly, she laughed.

It was lovely laughter, low and
sweet and full-throated. She threw
her head back and let her body
sway and her shoulders shake, and
the laughter, like the music, filled
the theater, gaining volume from
the great hollow of the roof and
sounding in the ears of every lis-
tener, not loud, but as intimately as
if each sat alone with the woman
who laughed.

And she was a woman now. Hu-
manity had dropped over her like
a tangible garment. No one who

had ever heard that laughter before
could mistake it here. But before
the reality of who she was had quite
time to dawn upon her listeners she'
let the laughter deepen into music,
as no human voice could have done.
She was humming a familiar re-
frain close in the ear of every
hearer. And the humming in turn
swung into words. She sang in her
clear, light, lovely voice:

“The yellow rose of Eden, is blooming
in my heart — ”

It was Deirdre’s song. She had
sung it first upon the airways a
month before the theater fire that
had consumed her. It was a com-
monplace little melody, simple
enough to take first place in the
fancy of a nation that had always
liked its songs simple. But it had
a certain sincerity too, and no taint
of the vulgarity of tune and rhythm
that foredooms so many popular
songs to oblivion after their novelty
fades.

No one else was ever able to sing
it quite as Deirdre did. It had been
identified with her so closely that
though for awhile after her accident
singers tried to make it a memorial
for her, they failed so conspicuously
to give it her unmistakable flair that
the song died from their sheer in-
ability to sing it. No one ever
hummed the tune without thinking
of her and the pleasant, nostalgic-
sadness of something lovely and
lost.

But it was not a sad song now.
If anyone had doubted whose brain
and ego motivated this shining metal

NO WOMAN BORN

16?

suppleness, they could doubt no
longer. For the voice was Deirdre,
i and the song. And the lovely, poised
i grace of her mannerisms that make
up recognition as certainly as sight
of a familiar face.

She had not finished the first line
of her song before the audience
knew her.

And they did not let her finish.
The accolade of their interruption
was a tribute more eloquent than
polite waiting could ever have been.
First a breath of incredulity rip-
pled' over the theater, and a long,
sighing gasp that reminded Harris
irrelevantly as he listened to the
gasp which still goes up from mati-
nee audiences at the first glimpse
of the fabulous Valentino, so many
generations dead. But this gasp did
not sigh itself away and vanish.
Tremendous tension lay behind it,
and the rising tide of excitement
rippled up in little murmurs and
• spatterings of applause that ran to-
gether into one overwhelming roar.
It shook the theater. The television
screen trembled and blurred a little
to the volume of that transmitted
applause.

Silenced before it, Deirdre stood
gesturing on the stage, bowing and
bowing as the noise rolled up about
her, shaking perceptibly with the
triumph of her own emotion.

Harris had an intolerable feeling
that she was smiling radiantly and
that the tears were pouring down
her cheeks. He even thought, just
as Maltzer leaned forward to switch
off the screen, that she was blowing
kisses over the audience in the time-
honored gesture of the grateful

actress, her golden arms shining as
she scattered kisses abroad from the
featureless helmet, the face that had
no mouth.

“Well?” Harris said, not with-
out triumph.

Maltzer shook his head jerkily,
the glasses unsteady on his nose
so that the blurred eyes behind them
seemed to shift.

“Of course they applauded, you
fool,” he said in a savage voice.
“I might have known they would
under this set-up. It doesn’t prove
anything. Oh, she was smart to
surprise them — I admit that. But
they were applauding themselves as
much as her. Excitement, grati-
tude for letting them in on a his-
toric performance, mass hysteria —
you know. It’s from now on the
test will come, and this hasn’t helped
any to prepare her for it. Morbid
curiosity when the news gets out —
people laughing when she forgets
she isn’t human. And they will,
you know. There are always those
who will. And the novelty wearing
off. The slow draining away of
humanity for lack of contact with
any human stimuli any more — ”

Harris remembered suddenly and
reluctantly the moment that after-
noon which he had shunted aside
mentally, to consider later. The
sense of something unfamiliar be-
neath the surface of Deirdre’s
speech. Was Maltzer right? Was
the drainage already at work? Or
was there something deeper than
this obvious answer to the ques-
tion? Certainly she had been
through experiences too terrible for

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

ordinary people to comprehend.
Scars might still remain. Or, with
her body, had she put on a strange,
metallic something of the mind, that
spoke to no sense which human
minds could answer?

For a few minutes neither of
them spoke. Then Maltzer rose
abruptly and stood looking down at
Harris with an abstract scowl.

“I wish you’d go now,” he said.
Harris glanced up at him, star-
tled. Maltzer began to pace again,
his steps quick and uneven. Over
his shoulder he said,

“I’ve made up my mind, Harris.
I’ve got to put a stop to this.”
Harris rose. “Listen,” he said.
“Tell me one thing. What makes
you so certain you’re right? Can
you deny that most of it’s specula-
tion— hearsay evidence ? Remem-
ber, I talked to Deirdre, and she
was just as sure as you are in the
opposite direction. Have you any
real reason for what you think ?”
Maltzer took his glasses off and
rubbed his nose carefully, taking a
long time about it. He seemed re-
luctant to answer. But when he
did, at last, there was a confidence
in his voice Harris had not ex-
pected.

“I have a reason,” he said. “But
you won’t believe it. Nobody
would.”

“Try me.”

Maltzer shook his head. “No-
body could believe it. No two peo-
ple were ever in quite the same
relationship before as Deirdre and
1 have been. I helped her come
back out of complete — oblivion. I
knew her before she had voice or

hearing. She was only a frantic
mind when I first made contact with
her, half insane with all that had
happened and fear of what would
happen next. In a very literal sense
she was reborn out of that condi-
tion, and I had to guide her through
every step of the way. I came to
know her thoughts before she
thought them. And once you’ve
been that close to another mind,
you don’t lose the contact easily.”
He put the glasses back on and
looked blurrily at Harris through
the heavy lenses. “Deirdre is wor-
ried,” he said. “I know it. You
won’t believe me, but I can — well,
sense it. I tell you, I’ve been too
close to her very mind itself to make
any mistake. You don’t see it,
maybe. Maybe even she doesn’t
know it yet. But the worry’s there.
When I’m with her. I feel it. And
I don’t want it to come any nearer
the surface of her mind than it’s
come already. I’m going to put a
stop to this before it’s too late.”

Harris had no comment for that.
It was too entirely outside his own
experience. He said nothing for a
moment. Then he asked simply,
“How?”

“I’m not sure yet. I’ve got to
decide before she comes back. And
I want to see her alone.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Harris
told him quietly. “I think you’re
imagining things. I don’t think you
can stop her.”

Maltzer gave him a slanted glance.
“I can stop her,” he said, in a
curious voice. He w.ent on quickly,
“She has enough already — she’s
nearly human. She can live nor-

KO WOMAN BORN

159

mally as other people live, without
going back on the screen. Maybe
this taste of it will be enough. I’ve
got to convince her it is. If she
retires now, she’ll never guess how
cruel her own audiences could be,
and maybe that deep sense of — dis-
tress, uneasiness, whatever it is —
won’t come to the surface. It
mustn’t. She’s too fragile to stand
that.” He slapped his hands to-
gether sharply. “I’ve got to stop
her. Bor her own sake I’ve got to
do it!” He swung round again to
face Harris. “Will you go now?”

Never in his life had Harris
wanted less to leave a place. Briefly
he thought of saying simply, “No
I won’t.” But he had to admit in
his own mind that Maltzer was at
least partly right. This was a mat-
ter between Deirdre and her cre-
ator, the culmination, perhaps, of
that year’s long intimacy so like
marriage that this final trial for su-
premacy was a need he recognized.

He would not, he thought, forbid
the showdown if he could. Per-
haps the whole year had been build-
ing up to this one moment between
them in which one or the other
must prove himself victor. Neither
was very well stable just now, after
the long strain of the year past. It
might very well be that the mental
salvation of one or both hinged
upon the outcome of the clash. But
because each was so strongly moti-
vated not by selfish concern but
by solicitude for the other in this
strange combat, Harris knew he
must leave them to settle the thing
alone.

He was in the street and hailing

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-£'ICTI0N

a taxi before the full significance
of something Maltzer had said came
to him. “I can stop her,” he had
declared, with an odd inflection in
his voice.

Suddenly Harris felt cold. Malt-
zer had made her — of course he
could stop her if he chose. Was
there some key in that supple
golden body that could immobilize
it at its maker’s will? Could she
be imprisoned in the cage of her
own body? No body before in all
history, he thought, could have been
designed more truly to be a prison
for its mind than Deirdre’s, if Malt-
zer chose to turn the key that locked
her in. There must be many ways
to do it. He could simply withhold
whatever source of nourishment
kept her brain alive, if that were
the way he chose.

But Harris could not believe he
would do it. The man wasn’t in-
sane. He would not defeat his own
purpose. His determination rose
from his solicitude for Deirdre; he
would not even in the last extremity
try to save her by imprisoning her
in the jail of her own skull.

For a moment Harris hesitated on
the curb, almost turning back. But
what could he do? Even granting
that Maltzer would resort to such
tactics, self-defeating in their very
nature, how could any man on earth
prevent him if he did it subtly
enough ? But he never would. Har-
ris knew he never would. He got
into his cab slowly, frowning. He
would see them both tomorrow.

He did not. Harris was swamped
with excited calls about yesterday’s

performance, but the message he
was awaiting did not come. The
day went by very slowly. Toward
evening he surrendered and called
Maltzer’s apartment.

It was Deirdre's face that an-
swered, and for once he saw no
remembered features superimposed
upon the blankness of her helmet.
Masked and faceless, she looked at
him inscrutably.

“Is everything all right?” he
asked, a little uncomfortable.

“Yes, of course,” she said, and
her voice was a bit metallic for the
first time, as if she were thinking
so deeply of some other matter that
she did not trouble to pitch it prop-
erly. “I had a long talk with Malt-
zer last night, if that’s what you
mean. You know what he wants.
But nothing’s been decided yet. '

Harris felt oddly rebuffed by the
sudden realization of the metal of
her. It was impossible to read any-
thing from face or voice. Each had
its mask.

“What are you going to do?” he
asked.

“Exactly as I’d planned,” she told
him, without inflection.

Harris floundered a little. Then,
with an effort at practicality, he
said, “Do you want me to go to
work on bookings, then?”

She shook the delicately modeled
skull. “Not yet. You saw the re-
views today, of course. They — did
like me.” It was an understatement,
and for the first time a note of
warmth sounded in her voice. But
the preoccupation was still there,
too. “I’d already planned to make
them wait awhile after my first per-

i«i

NO WOMAN BOHN

\ formance,” she went on. “A couple
of weeks, anyhow. You remember
that little farm of mine in Jersey,
John? I’m going over today. I
won’t see anyone except the serv-
ants there. Not even Maltzer. Not
even you. I’ve got a lot to think
about. Maltzer has agreed to let
everything go until we’ve both
thought things over. He’s taking
a rest, too. I’ll see you the moment
I get back, John. Is that all right ?”

She blanked out almost before he
had time to nod and while the be-
ginning of a stammered argument
was still on his lips. He sat there
staring at the screen.

The two weeks that went by be-
fore Maltzer called him again were
the longest Harris had ever spent.
He thought of many things in the
interval. He believed he could sense
in that last talk with Deirdre some-
thing of the inner unrest that Malt-
zer had spoken of — more an abstrac-
tion than a distress, but some
thought had occupied her mind
which she would not — or was it
that she could not? — share even
with her closest confidants. He
even wondered whether, if her
mind was as delicately poised as
Maltzer feared, one would ever
know whether or not it had slipped.
There was so little evidence one
way or the other in the unchanging
outward form of her.

Most of all he wondered what
two weeks in a new environment
would do to her untried body and
newly patterned brain. If Maltzer
were right, then there might be
some perceptible — drainage — by the

363

time they met again. He tried not
to think of that.

Maltzer televised him on the
morning set for her return. He
looked very bad. The rest must
have been no rest at all. His face
was almost a skull now, and the
blurred eyes behind their lenses
burned. But he seemed curiously at
peace, in spite of his appearance.
Harris thought he had reached some
decision, but whatever it was had
not stopped his hands from shaking
or the nervous tic that drew his face
sidewise into a grimace at intervals.

“Come over,” he said briefly,
without preamble. “She’ll be here
in half an hour.” And he blanked
out without waiting for an answer.

When Harris arrived, he was
standing by the window looking
down and steadying his trembling
hands on the sill.

“I can’t stop her,” he said in a
monotone, and again without pre-
amble. Harris had the impression
that for the two weeks his thoughts
must have run over and over the
same track, until any spoken word
was simply a vocal interlude in the
circling of his mind. “I couldn’t
do it. I even tried threats, but she
knew I didn’t mean them. There’s
only one' way out, Harris.” He
glanced up briefly, hollow-eyed be-
hind the lenses. “Never mind. I’ll
tell you later.”

“Did you explain everything to
her that you did to me ?”

“Nearly all. I even taxed her
with that . . . that sense of distress
I know she feels. She denied it.
She was lying. We both knew. It

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

was worse after the performance
than before. When I saw her that
night, I tell you I knew — she senses
something wrong, but she won’t ad-
mit it.” He shrugged. “Well — ”

Faintly in the silence they heard
the humming of the elevator de-
scending from the helicopter plat-
form on the roof. Both men turned
to the door.

She had not changed'at all. Fool-
ishly, Harris was a little surprised.
.Then he caught himself and re-
membered that she would never
change — never, until she died. He
himself might grow white-haired
and senile; she would move before
him then as she moved now, supple,
golden, enigmatic.

Still, he thought she caught her
breath a little when she saw Malt-
zer and the depths of his swift de-
generation. She had no breath to
catch, but her voice was shaken as
she greeted them.

“I’m glad you’re both here,” she
said, a. slight hesitation in her
speech. “It’s a wonderful day out-
side. Jersey was glorious. I’d for-
gotten how lovely it is in summer.
Was the sanitarium any good,
Maltzer ?”

He jerked his head irritably and
did not answer. She went on talk-
ing in a light voice, skimming the
surface, saying nothing important.

This time Harris saw her as he
supposed her audiences would, even-
tually, when the surprise had worn
off and the image of the living
Deirdre faded from memory. She
was all metal now, the Deirdre they
would know from today on. And

she was not less lovely. She was
not even less human — yet. Her
motion was a miracle of flexible
grace, a pouring of suppleness along
every limb. (From now on, Har-
ris realized suddenly, it was her
body and not her face that would
have mobility to express emotion;
she must act with her limbs and her
lithe, robed torso.)

But there was something wrong.
Harris sensed it almost tangibly in
her inflections, her elusiveness, the
way she fenced with words. This
was what Maltzer had meant, this
was what Harris himself had felt
just before she left for the country.
Only now it was strong — certain.
Between them and the old Deirdre
whose voice still spoke to them a
veil of — detachment — had been

drawn. Behind it she was in dis-
tress. Somehow, somewhere, she
had made some discovery that af-
fected her profoundly. And Harris
was terribly afraid that he knew
what the discovery must Ire. Malt-
zer was right.

He was still leaning against the
window, staring out unseeingly over
the vast panorama of New York,
webbed with traffic bridges, wink-
ing with sunlit glass, its vertiginous
distances plunging downward into
the blue shadows of Earth-level. He
said now, breaking into the light-
voiced chatter,

“Are you all right, Deirdre?”

She laughed. It was lovely
laughter. She moved lithely across
the room, sunlight glinting on her
musical mailed robe, and stooped to
a cigarette box on a table, tier fin-
gers were deft.

tea

NO WOMAN BORN

''Have one ?” she said, and carried
the box to Maltzer. He let her
put the brown cylinder between his
lips and hold a light to it, but he
did not seem to be noticing what he
did. She replaced the box and then
crossed to a mirror on the far wall
and began experimenting with a
series of gliding ripples that wove
patterns of pale gold in the glass.
"Of course I’m all right,” she said.

“You’re lying.”

Deirdre did not turn. She was
watching him in the mirror, but the
ripple of her motion went on
slowly, languorously, undisturbed.

“No,” she told them both.

Maltzer drew deeply on his ciga-
rette. Then with a hard pull he
unsealed the window and tossed the
smoking stub far out over the gulfs
below. He said,

“You can’t deceive me, Deirdre.”
His voice, suddenly, was quite calm.
“I created you, my dear. I know.
I’ve sensed that uneasiness in you
growing ancl growing for a long
while now. It’s much stronger to-
day than it was two weeks ago.
Something happened to you in the
country. I don’t know what it was,
but you’ve changed. Will you ad-
mit to yourself what it is, Deirdre?
Have you realized yet that you must
not go back on the screen?”

“Why, no,” said Deirdre, still not
looking at him except obliquely, in
the glass. Her gestures were slower
now, weaving lazy patterns in the
air. “No, I haven’t changed my
mind.”

She was all metal — oytwardly.
She was taking unfair advantage of
her own metai-hood. She had with-

drawn far within, behind the mask
of her voice and her facelessness.
Even her body, whose involuntary
motions might have betrayed what
she was feeling, in the only way
she could be subject to betrayal
now, she was putting through ritual
motions that disguised it completely.
As long as these looping, weaving
patterns occupied her, no one had
any way of guessing even from her
motion what went on in the hidden
brain inside her helmet.

Harris was struck suddenly ancl
for the first time with the complete-
ness of her withdrawal. When he
had seen her last in this apartment
she had been wholly Deirdre, not
masked at all, overflowing the metal
with the warmth and ardor of the
woman he had known so well. Since
then — since the performance on the
stage — he had not seen the familiar
Deirdre again. Passionately he
wondered why. Had she begun to
suspect even in her moment of tri-
umph what a fickle master an audi-
ence could be? Had she caught,
perhaps, the sound of whispers and
laughter among some small portion
of her watchers, though the great
majority praised her?

Or was Maltzer right? Perhaps
Harris’ first interview with her had
been the last bright burning of the
lost Deirdre, animated by excite-
ment and the pleasure of meeting
after so long a time, animation sum-
moned up in a last strong effort to
convince him. Now she was gone,
but whether in self-protection
against the possible cruelties of hu-
man beings, or whether in with-
drawal to metal-hood, he could not

ASTOUNDING SCIENCR-FICTION

guess. Humanity might be draining
out of her fast, and the brassy taint
of metal permeating the brain it
housed.

Maltzer laid his trembling hand
on the edge of the opened window
and looked out. He said in a deep-
ened voice, the querulous note gone
for the first time,

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,
Deirdre. I’ve done you irreparable
harm.” He paused a moment, but
Deirdre said nothing. Harris dared
not speak. In a moment Maltzer
went on. “I’ve made you vulner-
able, and given you no weapons to
fight your enemies with. And the
human race is your enemy, my dear,
whether you admit it now or later.
1 think you know that. I think it’s
why you’re so silent. I think you
must have suspected it on the stage
two weeks ago, and verified it in
Jersey while you were gone. They’re
going to hate you, after awhile, be-
cause you are still beautiful, and
they’re going to persecute you be-
cause you are different — and help-
less. Once the novelty wears off,
my dear, your audience will be sim-
ply a mob.”

He was not looking at her. He
had bent forward a little, looking
out the window and down. His
hair stirred in the wind that blew
very strongly up this high, and
whined thinly around the open edge
of the glass.

“I meant what I did for you,”
he said, “to be for everyone who
meets with accidents that might have
ruined them. I should have known
my gift would mean worse ruin

MURKIER . . .

by the clock

One clue . . . holding the secret of
crime, a clue thot only the master-mind
of The Shadow con recognize os the in-
dicator of death. It's NO TIME FOR
MURDER, when Lamont Cranston steps
into The Shadow's mysterious role to
solve a baffling case.

And, in the same big issue, death rides
a pony right onto the polo field, while
a glamorous ex-showgirl and an Argen-
tine polo player lend complications to
NO GAME FOR A POOR MAN, by
Richard Dermody.

Be sure to buy the
December issue of

THE SHADOW

AT ALL NEWSSTANDS

NO WOMAN BORN

165

than any mutilation could be. I
know now that there’s only one
legitimate way a human being can
create life. When he tries another
way. as I did, he has a lesson to
learn. Remember the lesson of the
student Frankenstein ? He learned,
too. In a way, he was lucky — the
way he learned. He didn’t have
to watch what happened afterward.
Maybe he wouldn’t have had the
courage- — I know I haven’t.”

Harris found himself standing
without remembering that he rose.
He knew suddenly what was about
to happen. Fie understood Malt-
zer's air of resolution, his new, un-
natural calm. He knew, even, why
Maltzer had asked him here today,
so that Deirdre might not be left
alone. For he remembered that
Frankenstein, too, had paid with his
life for the unlawful creation of
life.

Maltzer was leaning head and
shoulders from the window now,
looking down with almost hypno-
tized fascination. His voice came
back to them remotely in the breeze,
as if a barrier already lay between
them.

Deirdre had not moved. Her ex-
pressionless mask, in the mirror,
watched him calmly. She must have
understood. Yet she gave no sigh,
except that the weaving of her arms
had almost stopped now, she moved
so slowly. Like a dance seen in a
nightmare, under water.

It was impossible, of course, for
her to express any emotion. The
fact that her fade showed none
now should not, in fairness, be held
against her. But she watched so

i««

wholly without feeling — Neither
of them moved toward the window.
A. false step, now, might send him
over. They were quiet, listening to
his voice.

“We who bring life into the world
unlawfully,” said Maltzer. almost
thoughtfully, “must make room for
it by withdrawing our own. That
seems to be an inflexible rule. It
works automatically. The thing we
create makes living unbearable. No,
it’s nothing you can help, my dear.
I’ve asked you to do something I
created you incapable of doing. I
made you to perform a function,
and I’ve been asking you to forego
the one thing you were made to do.
I believe that if you do it, it will
destroy you, but the whole guilt is
mine, not yours. I’m not even ask-
ing you to give up the screen, any
more. I know you can’t, and live.
But I can’t live and watch you. I
put all my skill and all my love in
one final masterpiece, and I can’t
bear to watch it destroyed. I can’t
live and watch you do only what
I made you to do, and ruin yourself
because you must do it.

“But before I go, I have to make
sure you understand.” He leaned
a little farther, looking down, and
his voice grew more remote as the
glass came between them. He was
saying almost unbearable things
now, but very distantly, in a cool,
passionless tone filtered through
wind and glass, and with the dis-
tant humming of the city mingled
with it, so that the words were curi-
ously robbed of poignancy. “I can
be a coward,” he said, “and escape
the consequences of what I’ve done,

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

but I can’t go and leave you — not
understanding. It would be even
worse than the thought of your fail-
ure to think of you bewildered and
confused when the mob turns on
you. What I’m telling "you, my
dear, won’t be any real news — I
think you sense it already, though
you may not admit it to yourself.
We’ve been too close to lie to each
other, Deirdre — I know when you
aren’t telling the truth. I know the
distress that’s been growing in your
mind. You are not wholly human,
my dear. I think you know that.
In so many ways, in spite of all I
could do, you must always be less
than human. You’ve lost the senses
of perception that kept you in touch
with humanity. Sight and hearing
are all that remain, and sight, as
I’ve said before, was the last and
coldest of the senses to develop.
And you’re so delicately poised on
a sort of thin edge of reason. You’re
only a clear, glowing mind animat-
ing a metal body, like a candle flame
in a glass. And as precariously vul-
nerable to the wind.”

He paused. “Try not to let
them ruin you completely,” he said
after a while. “When they turn
against you, when they find out
you’re more helpless than they — I
wish I could have made you
stronger, Deirdre. But I couldn’t.
I had too much skill for your good
and mine, but not quite enough skill
for that.”

He was silent again, briefly, look-
ing down. He was balanced pre-
cariously now, more than halfway
over the sill and supported only by
one hand on the glass. Harris

watched with an agonized uncer-
tainty, not sure whether a sudden
leap might catch him in time ' or
send him over. Deirdre was still
weaving her golden patterns, slowly
and unchangingly, watching the mir-
ror and its reflection, her face and
masked eyes enigmatic.

“I wish one thing, though,” Malt-
zer said in his remote voice. “I
wish — before I finish — that you’d
tell me the truth, Deirdre. I’d be
happier if I were sure I’d — reached
you. Do you understand what I’ve
said? Do you believe me? Be-
cause if you don’t, then I know
you’re lost beyond all hope. If
you’ll admit your own doubt — and
I know you do doubt — I can think
there may be a chance for you after
all. Were you lying to me, Deirdre ?
Do you know how . . . how wrong
I’ve made you?”

There was silence. Then very
softly, a breath of sound, Deirdre
answered. The voice seemed to
hang in midair, because she had no
lips to move and localize it for the
imagination.

“Will you listen, Maltzer?” she
asked.

“I’ll wait,” he said. “Go on. Yes
or no?”

Slowly she let her arms drop to
her sides. Very smoothly and
quietly she turned from the mirror
and faced him. She swayed a little,
making her metal robe ring.

“I’ll answer you," she said. “But
I don’t think I’ll answer that. Not
with yes or no, anyhow. I’m going
to walk a little, Maltzer. I have
something to tell you, and I can’t

NO WOMAN BORN

167

talk standing still. Will you let me
move about without — going over?”
He nodded distantly. “You can’t
interfere from that distance,” he
said. “But keep the distance. What
do you want to say?”

She began to pace a little way
up and down her end of the room,
moving with liquid ease. The table
with the cigarette box was in her
way, and she pushed it aside care-
fully, watching Maltzer and making
no swift motions to startle him.

“I’m not — well, sub-human,” she
said, a faint note of indignation in
her voice. “I’ll prove it in a min-
ute, but I want to say something
else first. You must promise to
wait and listen. There’s a flaw in
your argument, and I resent it. I’m
not a Frankenstein monster made
out of dead flesh. I’m myself —
alive. You didn’t create my life,
you only preserved it. I’m not a
robot, with compulsions built into
me that I have to obey. I’m free-
willed and independent, and, Maltz-
zer — I’m human.”

Harris had relaxed a little. She
knew what she was doing. He had
no idea what she planned, but he
was willing to wait now. She was
not the indifferent automaton he
had thought. He watched her come
to the table again in a lap of her
pacing, and stoop over it, her eye-
less mask turned to Maltzer to make
sure a variation of her movement
did not startle him.

“I’m human,” she repeated, her
voice humming faintly and very
sweetly. “Do you think I’m not?”
she asked, straightening and facing
them both. And then suddenly, al-
ios

most overwhelmingly, the warmth
and the old ardent charm was radi-
ant all around her. She was robot
no longer, enigmatic no longer. Har-
ris could see as clearly as in their
first meeting the remembered flesh
still gracious and beautiful as her
voice evoked his memory. She stood
swaying a little, as she had always
swayed, her head on one side, and
she was chuckling at them both.
It was such a soft and lovely sound,
so warmly familiar.

“Of course I’m myself,” she told
them, and as the words sounded in
their ears neither of them could
doubt it. There was hypnosis io
her voice. She turned away and
began to pace again, and so power-
ful was the human personality
which she had called up about her
that it beat out at them in deep
pulses, as if her body were a fur-
nace to send out those comforting
waves of warmth. “I have handi-
caps, I know,” she said. “But my
audiences will never know. I won’t
let them know. I think you’ll be-
lieve me, both of you, when I say
I could play Juliet just as I am now,
with a cast of ordinary people, and
make the world accept it. Do you
think I could, John? Maltzer, don’t
you believe I could?”

She paused at the far end of her
pacing path and turned to face
them, and they both stared at her
without speaking. To Harris she
was the Deirdre he had always
known, pale gold, exquisitely grace-
ful in remembered postures, the in-
ner radiance of her shining through
metal as brilliantly as it had ever
shone through flesh. He did not

ASTOUNDING SC IENCTC- F IDT IO S

wonder, now, if it were real. Later
he would think again that it might
be only a disguise, something like
a garment she had put off with her
lost body, to wear again only when
she chose. Now the spell of her
compelling charm was too strong
for wonder. He watched, convinced
for the moment that she was all
she seemed to be. She could play
Juliet if she said she could. She
could sway a whole audience as
easily as she swayed himself. In-
deed, there was something about her
just now more convincingly human
than anything he had noticed before.
He realized that in a split second
of awareness before he saw what it
was.

She was looking at Maltzer. He,
too, watched, spellbound in spite of
himself, not dissenting. She glanced
from one to the other. Then she
put back her head and laughter
came welling and choking from her
in a great, full-throated tide. She
shook in the strength of it. Harris
could almost see her round throat
pulsing with the sweet low-pitched
waves of laughter that were shaking
her. Honest mirth, with a little
derision in it.

Then she lifted one arm and
tossed her cigarette into the empty
fireplace.

Harris choked, and his mind went
blank for one moment of blind de-
nial. He had not sat here watching
a robot smoke and accepting it as
normal. He could not! And yet
he had. That had been the final
touch of conviction which swayed
his hypnotized mind into accepting

her humanity. And she had done
it so deftly, so naturally, wearing
her radiant humanity with such
rightness, that his watching mind
had not even questioned what she
did.

He glanced at Maltzer. The man
was still halfway over the window
ledge, but through the opening of
the window he, too, was staring in
stupefied disbelief and Harris knew
they had shared the same delusion.

Deirdre was still shaking a little
with laughter. “Well,” she de-
manded, the rich chuckling making
her voice quiver, “am I all robot,
after all?”

Harris opened his mouth to speak,
but he did not utter a word. This
was not his show. The byplay lay
wholly between Deirdre and Malt-
zer; he must not interfere. He
turned his head to the window and
waited.

And Maltzer for a moment
seemed shaken in his conviction.

109

NO WOMAN BORN

“You . . . you are an actress,” he
admitted slowly. “But I . . . Fm
not convinced I’m wrong. I
think — ” He paused. The queru-
lous note was in his voice again, and
he seemed racked once more by the
old doubts and dismay. Then Har-
ris saw him stiffen. He saw the
resolution come back, and under-
stood why it had come. Maltzer
had gone too far already upon the
cold and lonely path he had chosen
to turn back, even for stronger evi-
dence than this. He had reached
his conclusions only after mental
turmoil too terrible to face again.
Safety and peace lay in the course
lie had steeled himself to follow.
He was too tired, too exhausted by
months of conflict, to retrace his
path and begin all over. Harris
could see him groping for a way
out, and in a moment he saw him
find it.

“That was a trick,” he said hol-
lowly. “Maybe you could play it
on a larger audience, too. Maybe
you have more tricks to use. I
might be wrong. But Deirdre” —
his voice grew urgent — “you haven’t
answered the one thing I’ve got to
know. You can’t answer it. You
do feel— dismay. You’ve learned
your own inadequacy, however well
you can hide it from us — even from
us. I know. Can you deny that,
Deirdre ?”

She was not laughing now. She
let her arms fall, and the flexible
golden body seemed to droop a
little all over, as if the brain that
a moment before had been sending
out strong, sure waves of confidence
had slackened its power, and the

170

intangible muscles of her limbs
slackened with it. Some of the
glowing humanity began to fade.
It receded within her and was gone,
as if the fire in the furnace of her
body were sinking and cooling.

“Maltzer,” she said uncertainly,
“I can’t answer that — yet. I
can’t — ”

And then, while they waited in
anxiety for her to finish the sen-
tence, she biased. She ceased to be
a figure in stasis — she biased.

It was something no eyes could
watch and translate into terms the
brain could follow ; her motion was
too swift. Maltzer in the window
was a whole long room-length away.
He had thought himself safe at such
a distance, knowing no normal hu-
man being could reach him before
he moved. But Deirdre was neither
normal nor human.

In the same instant she stood
drooping by the mirror she was
simultaneously at Maltzer’s side.
Her motion negated time and de-
stroyed space. And as a glowing
cigarette tip in the dark describes
closed circles before the eye when
the holder moves it swiftly, so
Deirdre blazed in one continuous
flash of golden motion across the
room.

But curiously, she was not
blurred. Harris, watching, felt his
mind go blank again, but less in
surprise than because no normal
eyes and brain could perceive what
it was he looked at.

(In that moment of intolerable
suspense his complex human brain
paused suddenly, annihilating time
in its own way, and withdrew to a

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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\

cool corner of its own to analyze
in a flashing second what it was he
had just seen. The brain could do
it tunelessly; words are slow. But
he knew he had watched a sort of
tesseract of human motion, a para-
ble of fourth-dimensional activity.
A one-dimensional point, moved
through space, creates a two-dimen-
sional line, which in motion creates
a three-dimensional cube. Theoreti-
cally the cube, in motion, would
produce a fourth-dimensional fig-
ure. No human creature had ever
seen a figure of three dimensions
moved through space and time be-
fore— until this moment. She had
not blurred ; every motion she made
was distinct, but not like moving
figures on a strip of film. Not like
anything that those who use our
language had ever seen before, or
created words to express. The
mind saw, but without perceiving.
Neither words nor thoughts could
resolve what happened into terms
for human brains. And perhaps she
had not actually and literally moved
through the fourth dimension. Per-
haps— since Harris was able to see
her — it had been almost and not
quite that unimaginable thing. But
it was close enough.

While to the slow mind’s eye
she was still standing at the far
end of the room, she was already
at Maltzer’s side, her long, flexible
fingers gentle but very firm upon
his arms. She waited —

The room shimmered. There
was sudden violent heat beating
upon Harris’ face. Then the air
steadied again and Deirdre was say-
ing softly, in a mournful whisper,

172

“I'm sorry — I had to do it. I’m
sorry — I didn’t mean you to
know — ”

Time caught up with Harris. He
saw it overtake Maltzer too, saw
the man jerk convulsively away
from the grasping hands, in a ludi-
crously futile effort to forestall
what had already happened. Even
thought was slow, compared with
Deirdre’s swiftness.

The sharp outward jerk was
strong. It was strong enough to
break the grasp of human hands
and catapult Maltzer out and down
into the swimming gulfs of New
York. The mind leaped ahead to a
logical conclusion and saw him
twisting and turning and diminish-
ing with dreadful rapidity to a tiny
point of darkness that dropped
away through sunlight toward the
shadows near the earth. The mind
even conjured up a shrill, thin cry
that plummeted away with the fall-
ing body and hung behind it in the
shaken air.

But the mind was reckoning on
human factors.

Very gently and smoothly Deir-
dre lifted Maltzer from the window
sill and with effortless ease carried
him well back into the safety of the
room. She set him down before a
sofa and her golden fingers un-
wrapped themselves from his arms'
slowly, so that he could regain con-
trol of his own body before she
released him.

He sank to the sofa without a
word. Nobody spoke for an un-
measurable length of time. Harris
could not. Deirdre waited pa-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

tiently. It was Maltzer who re-
gained speech first, and it came back
on the old track, as if his mind
had not yet relinquished the rut it
had worn so deep.

“All right,” he said breathlessly.
“All right, you can stop me this
time. But I know, you see. I
know ! You can’t hide your feel-
ing from me, Deirdre. I know the
trouble you feel. And next time —
next time I won’t wait to talk!”

Deirdre made the sound of a
sigh. She had no lungs to expel the
breath she was imitating, but it was
hard to realize that. It was hard
to understand why she was not
panting heavily from the terrible ex-
ertion of the past minutes ; the mind
knew why, but could not accept the
reason. She was still too human.

“You still don’t see,” she said.

“Think, Maltzer, think !”

There was a hassock beside the
sofa. She sank upon it gracefully,
clasping her robed knees. Her
head tilted back to watch Maltzer 's
face. She saw only, stunned stu-
pidity on it now ; he had passed
through too much emotional storm
to think at all.

“All right,” she told him. “Lis-
ten— I’ll admit it. You’re right. I
am unhappy. I do know what you
said was true — but not for the rea-
son you think. Humanity and I
are far apart, and drawing farther.
The gap will be hard to bridge. Do
you hear me, Maltzer?”

Harris saw the tremendous ef-
fort that went into Maltzer’s wak-
ening. He saw the man pull his
mind back into focus and sit up on
the sofa with weary stiffness.

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NO WOMAN BOHN

“You . . . you do admit it, then?”
lie asked in a bewildered voice.
Deirdre shook her head sharply.
“Do you still think o f me as deli-
cate?” she demanded. “Do you
know I carried you here at arm’s
length halfway across the room?
Do you realize you weigh nothing
to me? I could” — she' glanced
around the room and gestured with
sudden, rather appalling violence —
“tear this building down,” she said
quietly. “I could tear my way
through these walls, I think. I’ve
found no 'limit yet to the strength
I can put forth if I try.” She held
up her golden hands and looked at

them. “The metal would break,
perhaps,” she said reflectively, “but

then, I have no feeling — ”

Maltzer gasped, “Deirdre — ”

She looked up with what must

have been a smile. It sounded
clearly in her voice. “Oh, I won’t.
I wouldn’t have to do it with my
hands, if I wanted. Look — listen !”
She put her head back and a
deep, vibrating hum gathered and
grew in what one still thought of as
her throat. It deepened swiftly and
the ears began to ring. It went
deeper, and the furniture vibrated.
The walls began almost impercep-
tibly to shake. The room was full
and bursting with a sound that
shook every atom upon its neigh-
bor with a terrible, disrupting force.

The sound ceased. The humming
died. Then Deirdre laughed and
made another and quite differently
pitched sound. It seemed to reach
out like an arm in one straight di-
rection— toward the window. The
opened panel shook. Deirdre in-

174

tensified her hum, and slowly, with
imperceptible jolts that merged into
smoothness, the window jarred it-
self shut.

“You see?” Deirdre said. “You
see?”

But still Maltzer could only
stare. Harris was staring too, his
mind beginning slowly to accept
what she implied. Both were too
stunned to leap ahead to any con-
clusions yet.

Deirdre rose impatiently and be-
gan to pace again, in a ringing of
metal robe and a twinkling of re-
flected lights. She was panther-
like in her suppleness. They could
see the power behind that lithe mo-
tion now; they no longer thought
of her as helpless, but they were
far still from grasping the truth.

“You were wrong about me,
Maltzer,” she said with an effort
at patience in her voice. “But you
were right too, in a way you didn’t
guess. I’m not afraid of humanity.
I haven’t anything to fear from
them. Why” — her voice took on a
tinge of contempt — “already I’ve
set a fashion in women’s clothing.
By next week you won’t see a
woman on the street without a mask
like mine, and every dress that isn’t
cut like a chlamys will be out of
style. I’m not afraid of humanity!
I won’t lose touch with them unless
I want to. I’ve learned a lot —
I’ve learned too much already.”

Her voice faded for a moment,
and Harris had a quick and appall-
ing vision of her experimenting in
the solitude of her farm, testing the
range of her voice, testing her eye-

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

sight — could she see microscopically
and telescopically ? — and was her
hearing as abnormally flexible as
her voice ?

“You were afraid I had lost
feeling and scent and taste,” she
went on, still pacing with that pow-
erful, tigerish tread. “Hearing and
sight* would not be enough, you
think ? But why do you think
sight is the last of the senses? It
may be the latest, Maltzer — Harris
— but why \lo you think it’s the
last?”

She may not have whispered
that. Perhaps it was only their
hearing that made it seem thin and
distant, as the brain contracted and
would not let the thought come
through in its stunning entirety.

“No,” Deirdre said, "I haven’t
lost contact with the human race.
I never will, unless I want to. It’s
too easy . . . too easy.”

She was watching her shining
feet as she paced, and her masked
face was averted. Sorrow sounded
in her soft voice now.

“I didn't mean to let you know,”
she said. “I never would have, if
this hadn’t happened. But I
couldn’t let you go believing you’d
failed. You made a perfect ma-
chine, Maltzer. More perfect than
you knew.”

“But Deirdre — ” breathed Malt-
zer, his eyes fascinated and still
incredulous upon her, “but Deir-
dre, if we did succeed — what’s
wrong? I can feel it now — I’ve
felt it all along. You’re so un-
happy— you still are. Why, Deir-
dre?”

She lifted her head and looked

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NO WOMAN BORN

178

at him, eyelcssly, but with a pierc-
ing stare.

i “Why are you so sure of that?”
she asked gently.

“You think I could be mistaken,
knowing you as I do ? But I’m not
Frankenstein . . . you say my crea-
tion’s flawless. Then what — ”
“Could you ever duplicate this
body?” she asked.

Maltzer glanced down at his
shaking hands. “I don’t know. I
doubt it. I — ”

“Could anyone else?”

He was silent. Deirdre answered
for him. “I don’t believe anyone
could. I think I was an accident.
A sort of mutation halfway between
flesh and metal. Something acci-
dental and . . . and unnatural, turn-
ing off on a wrong course of evo-
lution that never reaches a dead
end. Another brain in a body like
this might die or go mad, as you
thought 1 would. The synapses
are too delicate. You were — call it
lucky — with me. From what I
know now, I don’t think a . . , a
baroque like me could happen
again.” She paused a moment.
“What you did was kindle the fire
for the Phoenix, in a way. And
the Phoenix rises perfect and re-
newed from its own ashes. Do you
remember why it had to reproduce
itself that way?”

Maltzer shook his head.

“I'll tell you,” she said. “It was
because there was only one Phoe-
nix. Only one in the whole world.”
They looked at each other in si-
lence. Then Deirdre shrugged a
little.

“He always came out of the fire

perfect, of course. I’m not weak,
Maltzer. You needn’t let that
thought bother you any more. I’m
not vulnerable and helpless. I’m
not sub-human.” She laughed
dryly. “I suppose,” she said, “that
I ’m — superhuman . ' ’

“But — not happy.”

“I’m afraid. It isn't unhappi-
ness, Maltzer — it’s fear. I don’t
want to draw so far away from the
human race. I wish I needn’t.
That’s why I'm going back on the
stage — to keep in touch with them
while I can. But I wish there could
be others like me. I’m . . . I'm
lonely, Maltzer.”

Silence again. Then Maltzer
said, in a voice as distant as when
he had spoken to them through
glass, over gulfs as deep as ob-
livion,

“Then I am Frankenstein, after
all.”

“Perhaps you are,” Deirdre said
very softly. “I- don’t know. Per-
haps you are.”

She turned away and moved
smoothly, powerfully, down the
room to the window. Now that
Harris knew, he could almost hear
the sheer power purring along her
limbs as she walked. She leaned
the golden forehead against the
glass — it clinked faintly, with a
musical sound — and looked down
into the depths Maltzer had hung
above. Her voice was reflective as
she looked into those dizzy spaces
which had offered oblivion to her
creator.

“There's one limit I can think
of,” she said, almost inaudibly.
“Only one. My brain will wear

178

ASTOUNDING SOIKNCE - FICTION

out in another forty years or so.
Between now and then I’ll learn • . •
I’ll change . . . I’ll know (nore than
I can guess today. I’ll change —
That’s frightening. I don’t like to
think about that.” She laid a curved
golden hand on the latch and pushed
the window open a little, very eas-
ily. Wind whined around its
edge. “I could put a stop to it
now, if I wanted,” she said. “If I
wanted. But I can't, really.
There’s so much still untried. My
brain’s human, and no human brain
could leave ’ such possibilities un-
tested. I wonder, though ... I do
wonder — ”

Her voice was soft and familiar
in Harris’ ears, the voice Deirdre
had spoken and sung with, sweetly
enough to enchant a world. But
as preoccupation came over her
a certain flatness crept into the
sound. When she was not listen-
ing to her own voice, it did not
keep quite to the pitch of trueness.
It sounded as if she spoke in a
room of brass, and echoes from the
walls resounded in the tones that
spoke there.

“I wonder,” she repeated, the
distant taint of metal already in
her voice.

THE END.

How I Became

a Hotel Hostess

>W.

Secures Position Though Without
Previous Hotel Experience

“Dissatisfied with the long hours
and humdrum routine as a clerk, I sent for the
Lewis School’s book. Shortly afterwards, I en-
rolled. Now hostess of this beautiful resort
hotel, earning a splendid salary. I get as much
fun out of the gay parties and sparkling enter-
tainment I plan and supervise, as the guests.
Thanks to Lewis Home Study, Leisure Time
Training.”

How I Stepped

IntOjaBIO PAY Hotel Job

C .P

Knew Nothing About Hotel Work,

Yet Becomes Hotel Steward

“Shortly after receiving my di-
ploma from the Lewis Hotel
Training School, I gave up my job in a power
plant and accepted a position obtained for me
by the Lewis Placement Bureau as Assistant
Manager of a famous Virginia Country Club.
Now Steward of this 350-room North Carolina
hotel. Have been here eleven months and have^
bad three raises in salary.”

STEP INTO A WELL-PAID HOTEL POSITION

From coast to coast Lewis-trained men and
•women are winning good positions and a sound,
substantial postwar future in the hotel, club and
institutional field. They are “making good” as
Managers, Assistant Managers, Executive
Housekeepers, Hostesses and in 55 other types
of well-paid positions. Today opportunities are
greater than ever.

The success of Lewis graduates has proved
previous experience unnecessary in this business
where you are not dropped because you are over
40. Your business, home, professional or grade
school background, plus Lewis Training, qualifies

you at home, in leisure time. FREE book tells!
how to qualify for a well-paid position ; explains
how you are registered FREE of extra cost, in
Lewis National Placement Service. Mail the
coupon NOW 1

r Lewis Hofei TrainTiig’school “

■ Room CX-1261. Washington 7, D. C. 8»«eP — - t

J Send me your Free Book. I want to know bow to )

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NO WOMAN BOEN

177

SPACESHIP’S VIEW!

( Continued from page 103)
a very marked parallax, so that,
standing behind the homemade
moon, one-half, or one-quarter of
the lens will be visible, but not all.
That plays ruinous tricks with de-
tail on or near the edge of the
moon. At the southern edge of the
picture on page 103 — the top edge —
there is a marked distortion of the
lunar features due to that effect.

We’re disappointed — but we do
fee! these shots are extremely in-
teresting. And — they may inspire
someone, more favorably located, to
go and do better. In various parts
of the United States there are large,
white-painted spherical gas-holders,
used for storing natural gas under
considerable pressure. There may
be other large, white spheres or
hemispheres. The lunar slides
needed for the projector can be ob-
tained from Mount Wilson Ob-
servatory • or other major astro-
nomical observatories. A glib
tongue, a convincing air, and — pos-
sibly— this article may help to get
permission to do the job some dark
and moonless night. It will take
some long exposures, some real in-
genuity in solving problems of pro-
jector power-supply, and a large
camera, if the thing is to be done
right. A sphere would be far
handier to use as the projection
screen; it may be darned near as
difficult as building a spaceship in
the first place to hang a camera
somewhere to the northwest of a
one-hundred-foot hemisphere. But
it would be simple to put the slide

THE

in at a peculiar angle to re-orient
the “moon” with respect to your
grounded tripod.

There is one other form of dis-
tortion that is inherent in this pro-
cess, and nothing can be done about
it for the next fifteen years or so.
That is the — call it “opacity
shadow.” Our camera spaceship is
in a position to see the other side
of the Moon — but there is, obvi-
ously, nothing in the projected im-
age there. The original taking
camera was not in a position to see.
The same phenomena, on a smaller
scale, applies to crater walls, and
similar objects.

Overcoming that opacity-shadow
effect, plus the deleterious effect of
the Earth’s atmosphere in making
the original telescopic shots, are
things that no amount of photo-
graphic ingenuity here on Earth can
overcome. They can be repaired
only by waiting the necessary fif-
teen years or so till the first ships
capable of circling the Moon are
built. Then we’ll see the unseeable
craters.

In the meantime, we’ll have to try
photographic spaceships.

Any photographs so obtained will
be of great interest. Dr. R. S.
Richardson originally suggested this
project to me, and helped me with
it. Any help I can render, based
on what I know won’t work, will be
gladly offered.

Anyone interested in 8 x 10
glossy prints of these experimental
shots published here may obtain
them for 50c each,” by writing this
magazine.

END.

ITS

ASTOUNDING SCIENCE-FICTION

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